


Force and Fortitude

by Draco_sollicitus



Series: Force and Fortitude: Regency Star Wars [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Ben Solo never became Kylo Ren, Era Appropriate Angst, F/M, Fluff, Han Solo is a space Mr. Bennet, Just trope heavy, Misunderstandings, Not based on a single Austen novel, Protective big brother Ben Solo, Regency era invented the slow burn, Rey makes Poe nervous in any universe, austen au, let's just combine our favorite austen tropes with sw characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_sollicitus/pseuds/Draco_sollicitus
Summary: After a tragic beginning to her life, Rey Kenobi becomes a ward to the Solo family and comes to live with them at Alderaan. When she is introduced to society, she quickly meets the dashing Naval officer, Commander Poe Dameron. While she initially finds him to be an attractive, agreeable man, he insults her by accident, causing her to believe that there are insurmountable differences in their circumstances.Their lives continue to intersect, partly due to the commander's friendship with her adoptive brother, Benjamin Solo, and partly due to something Rey can only believe is her own bad luck. Over the course of three years, he grows from an annoyance, to an acquaintance, to a friend -- and after a time, Rey struggles with the knowledge that she may want more than friendship from the handsome commander, who seems destined for things far greater than a marriage to a lost girl from the moors, with not a single penny to her name.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Star Wars fandom in possession of a wonderful ship most be in want of an Austen AU.

On a cold and British spring day, when the new blossoms were beginning to weigh down the trees lining the drive at Alderaan, a modest chaise and four delivered Rey Kenobi to her new home.

A willowy beauty caught between the worlds of child and woman, Miss Kenobi was of an age most believed to be either fifteen or sixteen years. Righteous scandal erupted in town when none could provide a definitive answer on the subject; the bitterly disappointing fact remained, one Miss Netal was overheard commenting, that she was a savage child from the moors, who had been found completely alone, unprotected, fiercely independent; who had shockingly refused the help of well-meaning townswomen after the most tragic death of her elected guardian and long-lost uncle, Benjamin Kenobi.

Even more tragically, Miss Netal would go on to comment, Miss Kenobi arrived with but one dress in her possession, boots and petticoat shamed with mud, and freckles upon a face that could otherwise be described as possessing a great if unusual beauty. To anyone who would listen, Miss Netal would protest that this was to be expected of the house of Alderaan, whose own shades had been quite maligned some five and twenty years prior, when the county beauty, the most eligible young woman in the country at the time, Leia Organa, took for a husband an absolute scoundrel. Her marriage to Mr. Han Solo – a man thirteen years her senior who had made his business in _trade_ – was the most contentious news to rock these sleepy parts of Somersetshire since the invasion of the French seven hundred years before.

Of course, anyone listening to Miss Netal would smile at her and nod, but were in honesty waiting to consider the merits and dangers of the Solo’s new ward for themselves. While it was not easy to forget the scandalous marriage of Miss Organa and Mr. Solo in 17—, it was even less easy to forget the most egregious way the engagement had ended between Miss Bazine Netal and Mr. Benjamin Solo, a handsome man with a rumored fortune of 9000 a year, who regretfully possessed, in addition to fortune, good looks, and a deep and oft-exercised sense of humor, a distinct lack of interest in a wife who gambled extensively or who was caught mocking his most beloved father, who had suffered from a limp since a shipping accident decades ago, at a public ball. 

And so, Miss Netal’s initial cruelties fell upon uncaring ears, and the county waited with baited breath to see the roughened jewel from Yorkshire. They would, of course, wait for almost eighteen months before she was to be introduced to society. In that time, Miss Netal and others like her – for who can represent the truth to an respectable extent when torn apart by jealousy and ignorance – continued to openly ponder the exact nature of Miss Kenobi’s upbringing, the miserable conditions of her childhood, and the polishing that must have been required to begin to make her acceptable for polite society.

**

 “Did you hear, Mr. Solo? There is to be a ball at Crait Manor.”

“A ball?” Mr. Solo fixes his wife with a confused stare, and draws out the word as if it is foreign. “What is a ‘ball,’ my sweet? I have not heard of such a thing in all my years.” Reaching the end of his declaration, he casts his eyes down the breakfast table at his young ward and winks roguishly.

“Mr. Solo. Surely you must know it is time to present our Rey to the public. She has come far in her lessons, and I am so proud of her. I really am, dear.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Solo.” Rey smiles at the older woman, who has become such a warm and pleasant part of her life.

Even a year and a half into her new life at Alderaan, she often had to pinch herself to make sure that this was truly her reality. Her private thoughts often ran the course of quietly believing that she had hit her head while mourning at Uncle Ben’s grave, and she had fallen into a pleasant dream world where she no longer has to fear for want of food or comfort or kindness. Uncle Ben had been a kind man, to be sure, but busy and weighed down by his crumbling estate, and food had not always been readily available. And her life before – well, it did not even bear thinking of, Rey tells herself in her new guardian’s voice.

Mr. Solo spears a potato and chews it thoughtfully before answering. “Well, I thought I would take Rey to the ships, put her to work. I think she’d make a fine captain, don’t you?”

Rey nods eagerly, knowing it to be in jest, but excited at the prospect of sailing all the same. Mrs. Solo does not miss the excitement on her face, and she gives her a patient smile, and then throws a terrifying glare at her husband.

“Mr. Solo.”

“Yes, yes, our Rey will be presented at society, everyone will love her just as much as we do, she will continue to be invited to balls, and I will have one less reason to stay at home during those miserable affairs.”

“Are balls really so miserable? If you recall, we met at a ball,” Mrs. Solo reminds him gamely.

“Indeed we did, my sweet. And as you recall, I snuck in and was asked to leave before we’d danced three dances.”

Mrs. Solo hiccups a laugh into her wine, and Rey giggles behind her hand.

Ben Solo chooses that moment to walk in, dressed for the day, and looking respectfully awake despite having stumbled back from the parlor at two in the morning. Rey knows this because he tripped on the landing walking up the stairs near her room.

“Morning,” he greets his family. He grabs a large hunk of meat that could not be considered polite nor respectable, but one that Rey admires him for having the gumption to claim. “What did I miss?”

“We will attend a ball on the next week’s end,” Mrs. Solo informs her son. She arches an eyebrow at him while he saws away at his breakfast. “We wish to present your adoptive sister to polite society. And I am thinking we will leave you behind, if you are to eat like that.”

“Excellent.” Ben seems unbothered by this suggestion, but he turns and smiles at Rey, continuing to hack at the fatty cut of meat. “Society will be lucky to have you, dear one.”

“Thank you, Ben,” she smiles back, and she’s about to offer to cut his meat for him – honestly, it’s like watching a bear rip open the sinews of a deer – when Ben continues to speak.

“And I apologize mother, but I will be in attendance. The officers arrive in the middle of the next week, and I will not miss the opportunity to speak with my good friends.” Ben had left the military the previous year after a gun had discharged badly and left him with a – dashing, Rey assured him – scar over his eye and on his left shoulder. Luckily, he did not need the income, and he had been lounging around the estate for several months now to an extent that his mother deemed “absolutely Gothic and useless.”

Ben takes a victorious bite of his food, and chews for a moment, ignoring the look his mother gives him over her plate. “And, if it’s any consolation, I’ll not eat a bite at this ball. Instead, I’ll limit myself to drink.”

“I don’t quite think that’s the consolation your mother’s searching for, brother,” Rey chides him gently.

Ben and Han both snort, and Leia sighs heavily. “A family full of jesters, that’s what I’ve been given,” she sighs dramatically. “I’d sell the lot of you if I could.”

Rey does not even blink at the statement, but she sees Ben stiffen and almost imperceptibly turn to examine her reaction. She smiles at him, truly unbothered by Leia’s joke.

Only Ben has heard the entirety of her tale; she had broken down and told him three months prior when a sleepless night had found both of them bundled under blankets and drinking vast amounts of tea (and brandy) in front of the fireplace in the great room. Only Ben knows that she’d been sold for drinking money. Only Ben knows the entirety of the terrible things that had happened to her – and the things that had almost happened to her – in her short life.

In turn, he had given her his own darkest parts: his worries that he would never be a good man like his father; his fear that he would continue to disappoint his mother and the memory of his grandfather, a powerful man of Parliament; his heartbreak from his cruelly ended betrothal; and his concern that the deep anger that often plagued him the entirety of his four and twenty years would not always be so easily beaten back with humor, jokes, and light conversation.

Rey adores Han and appreciates the endless effort Leia has poured into her education – but Ben is her _brother._ They love each other openly and happily, and he has, since the day they met, made her feel like her past could be forgotten, burned down, and her future could be anything she wished.

“If Ben is in attendance, the ball will most likely be too distracted by his antics to be concerned over the angle at which I hold my fork,” Rey comments, grinning at the tongue Ben sticks out at her. “I look forward to representing Alderaan in a manner befitting this great house.”

“Careful child,” Han warns her. “Any more pretty speeches like that, and Mrs. Solo will have you running for a Parliament seat.”

“I’d vote with her,” Ben comments, raising his glass at Rey. She raises hers in return, fixing a haughty look upon her face.

“As long as she isn’t a Tory,” Han nods. “She’ll have my support as well.”

The rest of breakfast is spent in playful imagination that not even Leia Solo is immune to. In the afternoon, Mrs. Solo and Miss Kenobi go into town so the younger lady can be fitted for a dress. Rey examines the finery in a guilty manner until Mrs. Solo tugs on her sleeve and smiles at her.

“You deserve this, my dear,” she reminds her gently. “I am not giving you anything I do not want to give you. You will be the brightest jewel in our society, and not because of the way you hold your fork or the clothes we put you in. You are brilliant in your own right. This is just a way to get you in the door.” Rey blinks back tears at the kind words, and Mrs. Solo hands her a handkerchief, and dabs at her own eyes with her gloved hand.

A ball could be a wonderful thing, Rey decides as she looks in the mirror at her gauzy green and silver gown that makes her look like a faery or a wood nymph.

A wonderful thing indeed.

***

On the way to Crait Manor, Rey Kenobi considers more than once that it might be best if she just jumped out the carriage window and rolled away down the hill, back to the tangle of thorns and weeds and brush that she came from.

“You wouldn’t fit out the window,” Ben whispers to her, seemingly guessing the direction of her thoughts.

“Still,” Rey sighs. “A pleasant idea.” She examines the window and then her own slender form, which has not gained any fashionable curves despite Mrs. Solo’s constant provision of food to her thin ward. “Are you quite sure, brother? I think I could make it. I’m only wearing the one petticoat.”

“Scandalous.” He sounds bored, but he also examines the window as well. “Fine, you caught me in my deceit. You would fit through the window easily, but then I would be encouraged to join you. And my shoulders certainly would not fit.”

Mrs. Solo looks up from her intense conversation with her husband regarding the current unrest at the county seat of government.

“What are you two talking about?” She asks suspiciously.

“Just commenting on the delightful benefits of fresh air, my darling mother,” Ben assures her.

After Mrs. Solo moves to return to her discussion, Ben stands as much as he can in the carriage and shoves the upper half of his body out the window.

“Benjamin Organa Solo! Sit down this instant!” His mother cries, tugging at the tail of his coat.

“See, Rey? I don’t fit,” Ben’s voice is muffed, and Rey cries from laughter at the sight of his broad shoulders caught on either side of the window.

“If I take your sword and cut you into pieces you just might, Benjamin. Sit down!” Mrs. Organa’s voice is harsh, but not even the well-practiced lady can hide her grin.

“Alright, if the lady insists.” Ben pulls his head back in and returns to his seat, cheeks flushed, and victory in his eyes at the mirth still pouring out of Rey.

She feels significantly less nervous about her presentation now, which she realizes was most certainly her brother’s intent.

***

Rey is introduced at the ball, and she hopes the wreck of nerves rising in her stomach plays off as simpering and sweet on her face. She very much doubts it does. Still, polite applause greets her introduction, and she smiles from her place at Mr. Solo’s side.

Many families come to greet her first, and Rey takes particular delight in addressing the children royally, offering her hand to even the youngest girls and boys, who giggle at her lofty speech and address. The parents smile at her silliness, and Rey hopes that this means she will be accepted as not a tart nor a scandalous wild thing with a dark past, but rather a cheerful young woman with a fondness for innocence and joy – which is _exactly_ what she is, and who she wants to be.

Han cannot curb his laughter at her playfulness, and he fulfills his role as scout by nudging her whenever Mrs. Solo is in earshot, at which point Rey straightens up and acts a normal, proper lady.

Eventually, the trickle of young families disappears, the children being led off to bed while the hour nears eight, and time for dancing. Rey rubs her face and groans. “Why does smiling have to be so painful?” She asks her guardian quietly. “It’s so much easier to frown.”

Han scowls at her. “This is a fact we can agree upon, princess.” He winks at her through the scowl, his brow lowered ridiculously over his keen eyes, and Rey is still laughing when the first gentleman appears to be introduced.

They are all perfectly pleasant as well, even if Rey does not enjoy these conversations as much as she had her time with the families. Han stands a little taller at this time, if she does not imagine things, and he regards each man with a terrifying scrutiny, as if he could perform an examination of soul.

“Don’t take more than one dance with that one,” he mutters under his breath after Mr. Draven walks away. “His dad was a real arse, too.” Rey nudges him, snorting behind her hand.

Ben approaches, and Rey heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank God in Heaven, I already know this one,” she declares jovially, extending her hand at her brother.

He shakes his head at her and tilts it to a man at his side whom Rey had almost overlooked in her excitement at seeing a familiar face.

A handsome – _devastatingly_ handsome, her brain unhelpfully supplies – man in the blue coat of a Naval officer is at Ben’s elbow. He is almost half a foot shorter than Ben, but his shoulders match the younger Solo’s for broadness. Rey fidgets inside her tight shoes at the sight of his dark, almost unruly curls, and the undeniable intelligent gleam in his brown, luminous eyes. _Oh dear,_ she thinks. _Oh dear, oh dear._

She is nervous in front of a man, and it is not the normal sort of nervousness; not the nervousness of any potential harm done to her person or another’s. No. She is nervous for a completely new, alien reason, and while distracting, it is not entirely unpleasant. She just wishes she knew what to call it.

This man’s appearance alone threatens to knock her world off its axis, and he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet.

No – he has. His almost sinfully red mouth is caught in a grin at her reaction to Ben’s appearance. “That is a very warm welcome indeed, Mr. Solo,” he drawls at her brother. Drat. Even his voice is compelling.

“Commander Poe Dameron,” Ben says, smirking at Rey, and what she’s sure is an unmistakable flush on her cheeks, “May I present my family’s ward and my most beloved sister, Miss Rey Kenobi.”

“That’s my job, son,” she hears Han tell Ben gruffly. She can’t even hear her brother’s response, not when Commander Dameron bows at the waist, not when he pauses in his bow and looks up at her, still smiling as if they’d shared a private joke. Rey waits for him to straighten, and then she remembers to curtsy, and she swears she got the motion right this time, her head naturally bowing in her effort to not look directly at this Adonis who has been sent to torment her.

 _I’ve been reading too many novels,_ she scolds herself.

“A pleasure,” Commander Dameron declares. Rey agrees, wholeheartedly.

“A Commander?” She hears herself ask. “What ship do you captain?”

“The _Black Beauty_ ,” he tells her smilingly. Does he always smile? Or does he just smile at her? She hates that she wonders. “A fine vessel, finest in the feet, the most beautiful thing upon this earth. Well – I may have to reconsider that opinion, in light of current company.”

Rey blushes, furiously, and she sees Ben knock his elbow against Dameron’s. She also hears a huff from her adoptive father. Commander Dameron seems to realize the overexertion of his charm, and he looks almost guiltily at Ben and Han before returning his gaze to Rey.

Not to be outdone, she counters with, “Must we doubt your loyalty so soon in our acquaintance, Commander Dameron? If your opinion is changed so readily, with such little provocation, one might wonder at your constancy. Are your opinions so easily changed, or should we accept that a modest young woman from the country could possibly outshine the finest ship in His Majesty’s Armada?”

Ben gives his friend a gleeful smile, which only broadens when he sees the stupefied look upon his handsome face.

“You’ve done it, Miss Kenobi,” he says, clapping Commander Dameron on the back. “You’ve accomplished what none of us were able to – you’ve gotten him to stop talking!”

“Ah, so words are your folly after all, Commander Dameron.” Rey raises an eyebrow at him and fights to maintain a calm disposition.

“Indeed they are, madam.” Dameron seems to remember how to form speech, now. “And I look forward to speaking with you later in the night to examine if my speech always gets ahead of me, or if my vices can be controlled with an even hand. May I request a dance with you?”

“I believe I am free for the fourth number,” Rey replies, not even looking to Han. Of course she’s free to continue this conversation. She would ensure it through any means necessary.

Commander Dameron, still slightly flushed behind the ears, bows deeply and takes his leave.

Ben remains, and regards his sister with high spirits. “We really should put you on a ship,” he laughs. “You could scare all our officers into shape.”

Rey waves him away and suffers through half a dozen more stilted introductions before the dances begin.

She dances the first with Lt. Iolo and the second with Mr. Edwards. The third, a lively reel, she dances with Ben, and she has a feeling that he selects their position on the floor on purpose, so that she’s forced to face Commander Dameron for a solid half of the song, while they weave in and out of the line and back towards their respective, selected partners.

“Does this count as our dance?” She asks him curiously the second time they pass each other.

“Does the lady wish to sit out the next song?” He looks sincerely concerned.

“No, no,” Rey shakes her head. “But I fear I shall be quite fatigued by the time our dance begins.”

“Then you shall step upon my feet,” Dameron declares grandly. “And I shall bear your weight for the entirety of the number.”

“Tempting,” she calls at him on their next passing. “But I do not think I would win myself any favors were I to wound a respected officer of the Navy.” He laughs heartily in response, and she feels more accomplished than she has at any point of her education so far.

“You neglect me, sister,” Ben tells her mournfully as they return to each other. “But I cannot blame you. Commander Dameron is a fine man, and I’m glad he has captured your affections. You could love a great deal stupider man.”

“Captured my—” Rey grips Ben’s hand a bit harder than is perhaps necessary. “I find him to be a lively conversational partner, that is all. Heavens, are men so focused on matrimony that their minds leap from introduction to affection to love so easily?”

“We can think of nothing else.” The song ends, and both are distracted by the entrance of Miss Netal. She spies Ben and raises her eyebrow at him. Rey sees him stiffen, and she places her hand on his elbow soothingly.

“I do not care how much I would like to dance with Commander Dameron,” she tells him gently. “If you wish to avoid her, I will faint right here and now, and you will have an excuse to leave the ballroom.”

“My hero,” he says, sounding half-serious. “But no, go enjoy Dameron’s smiles. I will find comfort in refreshment, as always.” He bows to her and walks away, tension obvious in his shoulders. Rey stands at the edge of the floor, waving a hand in front of her face while anxiety born of Ben’s distress devours her stomach.

“Is the lady overheated?” Commander Dameron for all his flirtatious ways, does sound truly concerned as he appears at her side.

“No, not any more to be expected.” She smiles at him and takes his arm while they walk to the floor. Dancing with Ben almost hurt her neck from how much she had to look up at him. Commander Dameron is only a few inches taller than she is, and she appreciates being able to look her dance partner in the eye with little effort.

She’s still a little lost in her worry for her brother, and before the song begins, Commander Dameron clears his throat. “Am I—I’m not keeping you from a more pleasant engagement, am I?”

“No sir,” Rey blushes and looks back at him steadily. “No, I just…I worry for Ben sometimes.” She blushes harder at her mistake; she knows she should not use Ben’s first name in public.

“I do too,” Commander Dameron admits, unbothered by her faux pas. “I’m glad someone else does. I don’t think enough people worry about him.”

Rey smiles at him, glad to have found a partner with such happy manners. The music begins, and they step together, Dameron’s hand a warm presence on her side. They don’t talk as much as they had during the reel, the commander staring over her shoulder for much of it, but smiling genuinely all the time. She knows a conversation in this kind of dance would be considered too intimate; they stand close together for most of it, and contact is maintained for the majority of the number.

Still, she misses the lightning quick manner in which he speaks. She finds it most perfectly matches the way she thinks, and she hasn’t had so much fun talking to someone, other than Ben, in the last year and a half. “May I confess something?” she asks her partner.

“Do you find me trustworthy enough to confess to?” Commander Dameron smiles at her, looking oddly flattered, his large eyes once more drifting over her face – it feels almost like a caress.

“I find there are degrees of secrets,” Rey comments idly, heart pounding in her chest. “And the one I wish to share with you is not so much one of mortal importance; merely relevant to our current activity.”

“Ah, a confession about dancing,” Dameron nods. “Or a confession about attractive men?” He winks at her, and Rey stiffens slightly.

He looks apologetic immediately. “Forgive me, I – I have not been in polite society for very long. I just returned from sea, and some habits are hard to return to.”

Rey smiles at his honesty, and she looks him in the eyes until he looks away. “I forgive you,” she says warmly. “I have not been in polite society very long either, and I don’t even have the benefit of habits to rely upon. Which brings me to my confession.” They stare over the other’s shoulder, moving through the motions of the dance quietly for a few beats. “I confess that I may not be as spirited as before, if only because my focus is divided. I fear that I have to count the steps of this dance in my head, or I would lose control completely and fall either on my face or into your arms.”

“No one could accuse you of being un-spirited, my lady.” Commander Dameron’s hands fidget against hers. “And I must confess that the latter of those outcomes does not sound entirely unpleasant.”

“Very good then,” Rey nods, wanting to keep this conversation playful, and in the proper realm of decorum. She cannot embarrass her household. “If it is not _entirely_ unpleasant. Maybe only mildly?”

“Yes, mildly unpleasant.” The song ends, and the couples around them applaud. Rey remembers to join in after a few seconds, and then Commander Dameron does too.

Mr. Draven comes to collect his dance, and Rey turns around to look at the officer one more time before the song begins. In the end, she can see him over the shoulder of her new partner, and it proves to be highly distracting.

He’s smiling at her, and the smile only broadens when Draven immediately steps on her toes, and she makes a horrible face that she forcibly rearranges into a polite smile. She suffers through the next six minutes somehow, exchanging pleasant and polite small talk that requires absolutely no higher thinking on her part.

At the end, she finds herself walking to the edge of the room, where she examines the couples dancing. Now that she is not dancing, nor discussing anything with anyone interesting, her mind drifts as it so often does. She imagines a life as a pirate, she imagines life in the night sky. She imagines a number of things, and then she spies a door leading out into the gardens.

The promise of fresh air is too much, and casting her eyes around the room, she spots Leia otherwise engaged with her friend, Madame Mothma. Rey walks quickly towards the exit, and she breathes a sigh of relief when the cool fall air fills her lungs.

She walks to the edge of the balcony and examines the grounds of Crait Manor. The ground here is a strange, red clay, and she wishes they had come in the daylight, so she could examine the soil closely. Rey loves green things, and her garden at Alderaan is among her chiefest joys.

Footsteps appear behind her, and suddenly she sense a male presence at her elbow. She flinches slightly, before she remembers where she is; she is far away from her life up north, and no one here would dare to threaten a lady.

“Beautiful night,” Commander Dameron comments. Rey looks at him without turning her body.

“It is,” she agrees demurely. The air between them feels strange, as if something had shifted in the very gravity of the earth.

“I was wondering,” Commander Dameron coughs and stops there.

“Yes?” She turns then to smile at him, and she appreciates the way the torchlight plays upon his features. Laughter and music trickles through the open doors, and other couples and figures seeking a break from the ballroom are standing on the balcony. They can talk freely, which she greatly appreciates.

“I was wondering if you would like to take a turn about the gardens.” He says this in a rush, looking slightly above her head, avoiding her eyes.

“What?” Rey looks at him in confusion. “Now? In the dark?”

“Yes.” He mutters something else under his breath. “Yes, we could borrow a light, and we could see the gardens up close, and it could be very – pleasant.” He shifts awkwardly on his feet, and Rey feels her heart thud in mortification.

“You mean to suggest that you and I enter the gardens at night, with no chaperone, to – to look at plants?”

“I mean we could talk and do things other than look at plants.” Commander Dameron looks at her finally, and she reads this for what it must be – a proposition.

“I apologize, sir,” she says stiffy. “I fear that would be most improper. You will find some other partner to examine ‘the gardens’ with. I will remain up here, and I will remember my place. I wish you would remember yours.”

“No!” He says loudly, too loudly. It draws the attention of a few people, and he lowers his voice. “I only meant to say – I thought you would enjoy it.”

 _Because you’re a harlot,_ the suggestion goes unsaid. _Because I’ve heard about your past, I’ve heard the rumors, and after seeing just how free you can be with your tongue, I was hoping you could be free with your body as well._ Rey has an absurd desire to cry; absurd because she’d just as soon run this man through on his sword, charming smiles or no.

“You mock me.” She knows she sounds more wounded than she should, but no one can hear them. She hopes no one can hear them.

He looks stricken. “Indeed I do not, Miss Kenobi. How could a mortal such as myself mock Diana?”

“A funny joke,” Rey seethes, willing the tears to leave her eyes and leave her dignity intact. “You know who I am, what they say about me. The Kenobi orphan, the wild girl raised on the moors, apart from polite society, who has known no gentility nor demonstrated a curbed spirit. Hardly a girl that could be fitting for an officer and a gentleman such as yourself to associate with, especially in the dark, especially without chaperone.”

“I meant no offense, I assure you.” Commander Dameron regards her solemnly. “I humbly entreat you for your pardon.”

“I do not give it,” Rey snaps. “For offense was taken. Save your easy smiles and pretty words for a girl who can afford to be swayed. I will not bring further shame to the Solo house.”

“Further shame? I do not pretend to know what you imply, Miss Kenobi. The Solo name is a fine one.” Poe’s brow is quizzical, even though his eyes still suggest an earnestness that Rey scolds her sympathetic stomach for attending to.

“My being in their house sullies their name, good sir.” Rey wipes her eyes, not caring for the lack of propriety on her part by the action. This conversation extends beyond the limits of propriety, for pity’s sake. “The things that are said about my upbringing; the implications of my ruined state. Surely you must have heard the rumors. Surely that must be the reason for your attempt to isolate me from the other women.”

“Miss Kenobi, I beg of you to listen to me. I care not for rumors or hearsay. I sought you out because you were the only person in that room who looked as bored as I felt. Your brother mentioned to me your love of your own garden, and the grounds at Crait are spectacular.” _Oh_. Rey almost feels guilty, but then she remembers that he had asked her in the least proper way possible, and so she does not feel so guilty. “Please. Do not – do not think so low of yourself. Think lowly of me, if you have to, for my error was unconsciously done, but clearly aggrieved you. I am sorely repentant for the offense. But Miss Kenobi, you were the brightest person in that room tonight. No one could think you _ruined.”_

“I do not wish to speak of it any further,” Rey insists, more hot tears splashing from her eyes. “Please, Commander Dameron, I must ask for your leave.”

He nods, and pulls his coat by the lapels to adjust it over his broad chest. Dameron opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by a blessedly familiar voice.

“Miss Kenobi, are you quite alright?”

“B—Mister Solo.” Rey catches herself, barely in time. Her brother strides towards them across the balcony, looking thunderous, and she swears she hears Commander Dameron curse under his breath. “No, I am feeling quite ill.”

“What is the cause?” Despite being Commander Dameron’s close friend, he regards the officer with sudden distrust. “Has there been a slight to your honor?” His hand twitches to his technically ornamental sword.

“No, no, dear brother,” Rey insists, trying to play the part of insipid adopted sister, in case there are any listening ears drawn by the rise in Ben’s voice. _He cannot help it, he was such a spirited child,_ Leia’s voice floats through her ears. _Getting into fights every other day, brawling even in his university years. Our Ben knows how to get in trouble._ She grips the stone wall of the balcony, playing up her distress. “I was feeling faint, and Commander Dameron offered me his assistance, that is all. I fear I have a most dreadful headache.”

“I shall call the carriage for you at once, dear one.” Ben offers her his arm, and Rey takes it, slipping her fingers briefly through his gloved ones and squeezing reassuringly. He gives her a kind smile, and then fixes Dameron with a slightly less suspicious look than before. “I thank you for helping Miss Kenobi. I can take it from here.”

“Yes, of course.” Dameron clears his throat, and bows deeper than the situation would really call for. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss Kenobi.”

“Perhaps you can call on me next week, to see for yourself,” Rey suggests, feeling more guilty now that she accused him of impropriety.

The Commander looks up from the bow, astonishment in his eyes, color high on his cheeks. Ben nudges Rey in the side, and his brow is lifted in amusement when she flicks her eyes up to him.

“I most humbly accept your invitation,” Commander Dameron says. He begins to stand up straight, and Ben escorts Rey from the courtyard.

“I do hope you aren’t feeling poorly, little bird,” Ben teases her. “But if you could find it in your infinite goodness to not torment or distract our best officers before they ship off, that would be in the best interest of His Royal Majesty’s Navy.”

“Oh hush, Master Solo,” Rey teases right back. “I’m the last person alive who could make _that_ man feel mortification.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She looks up at him curiously but he does not elaborate further. “Now, let’s summon the carriage. If I have to discuss the quality of the room or the number of couples one more time with one more ridiculous junior officer, I will cut my own hand off to escape.”

***

Commander Dameron does call upon the Solos at the beginning of the next week. He arrives with a bouquet of flowers, and when he enters the drawing room, Rey sees Ben give him a look that could possibly be described as murderous, if there weren’t such amusement in it.

The commander clears his throat after being introduced and hands the flowers to Mrs. Solo. “For the lady of the house,” he says, face bright red.

“How thoughtful,” Mrs. Solo gives him a strange look. “I shall arrange them shortly.” She leaves them on her lap, and Rey finds herself examining the blooms. They’re quite pretty, and she wonders at where Dameron found them.

She reaches out to stroke a bright blue petal with her finger, and when she looks up, she sees Dameron gazing at her, strangely pleased.

He asks after Mr. Solo, who’s currently in town on business. Mrs. Solo answers for all of them, and eventually Ben asks Dameron about his ship’s crew.

The discussion is lively, and Rey is more than content to just listen. Eventually, Mrs. Solo invites Commander Dameron to stay for tea, and after he accepts, she gracefully exits the room to inform the servants of the change in the necessary table settings.

Ben and Commander Dameron continue to talk, and Rey rises from her sofa, needing to stretch her legs. She walks to the atlas in the window, and idly examines the passage to Africa, tracing her fingers along the fine, gilded page.

“Do you have an interest in cartography, then?”

Rey startles at the unexpected voice behind her, and she wills her heart to beat a little less furiously. “No,” she responds hastily, spinning around so she can face the commander. She can see that Ben remains seated, and he’s smiling at her, all too happy at her sudden state. “No, I was just considering an error in the map.”

“An error?” Commander Dameron leans in, and she twists her body out of the way so he will not brush against her by accident. Rey gives her brother a furious look while the officer is distracted.  Ben is uselessly impassive.

“Yes, an error,” Rey sighs and turns back to the map. She points at the small space between Spain and Africa. “The Strait of Gibraltar. It is far too small here, it looks as though the continents are touching. I feel the people of Tunisia and Spain are unhappy enough neighbors without actual overlap in their countries.”

Commander Dameron examines it momentarily. “I bet I could get a ship through that passage,” he declares boastfully. Rey snorts in disbelief; less than a centimeter of space exists in the map’s depiction of the body of water.

“What? According to the key, even that sliver of space is at least two miles wide. That is hardly a boast.”

“No,” he shakes his head and grins at her playfully. “I could get my ship through _this_ passage.” He taps the map and she catches his meaning.

“The world’s smallest ship, then?”

Commander Dameron nods, unembarrassed and unrepentant in his silliness. “Yes ma’am. I can sail anything.”

“And so modest to boot.” Rey fakes an enraptured sigh and moves away from the gentleman, to the other corner of the room. She’s settled herself with her shoulders against the bookcase when Leia returns to call them to tea.

Commander Dameron offers her his arm on the way to the parlor, and she accepts without thinking.

Once they’ve arrived at the table, she lets go as if electricity surged between them. The commander says nothing of it, merely pulls her chair out for her before going to sit himself.

He and Ben re-enter their conversation from before, and when Mr. Solo arrives halfway through tea, the topic switches to the pirates that are currently plaguing the fleet.

This Rey can listen to with unfeigned interest, and the rest of the afternoon passes in a cheerful blur.

***

While he remains on solid ground, Commander Dameron makes it a point to visit Alderaan at least once or twice weekly. He wanders the grounds with Ben, who apparently had been his best friend at university. Rey resents him at first for stealing her favorite companion, but she is distracted enough by the continued practice of her instruments, her painting, her singing, her sewing, her whatever-else-young-ladies-of-value-have-to-do-ing.

Sometimes when she sits with a book in her lap or when she takes a turn of the grounds, she’ll run into Ben and his close friend. Their conversations are always enjoyable, and Rey appreciates that they talk to her as if interested in her opinions. She gives those freely enough, and she often inspires both men to roar in laughter.

One day, towards the beginning of spring, Rey is examining the weeds that have appeared in her beloved garden. It was the second thing she was given at Alderaan – the first being her own, real room with a warm, large bed – and she loves the small space dearly.

Thick, thorned vines are climbing up the lattices she’d built for peas and other delicate plants, and she frowns at them, poking at them with her rough work gloves.

She tries to pull at the root, but they are too entangled with her lattice for her to remove them without damaging the structure.

Luckily, she hears a heavy footstep approach the gate of her garden. Rey brushes dirt off on the skirt of her dress – an old, linen one that Mrs. Solo suggested for this very task, so she will not get in trouble for dirtying it – and stands to greet the person she assumes is her brother or Han.

“Could you lend me your knife?” She calls, not looking over her shoulder. “This weed is proving to be most stubborn.”

“That is their job, Miss Kenobi.” Rey blushes at the voice of Commander Dameron, and when she turns around to look at him, she sees that he is by himself, leaning against the post of the gate, and smiling at her fondly.

“Oh, forgive me, Commander. I thought you were Mr. Solo, or perhaps my brother.”

“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head, and Rey’s eyes inexplicably follow the way his curls move from the action. “I am happy to be of assistance. May I enter?”

Rey nods, and he walks through the gate. She feels strangely shy as he stands in her garden.

“Nothing is growing besides the perennials right now,” Rey blurts out defensively. “It’s much more colorful in the spring.”

“I’m sure it is.” Commander Dameron kneels down next to the troublesome vine and considers it briefly. He pulls out a small, sharp knife and cuts the weed loose. He pulls it out steadily, gathering the pieces of the hacked plant in his hand, and stands again, a small streak of dirt on his pants, and a smudge on his chin from where he’d wiped at his face.

“Thank you,” Rey whispers. The commander throws the remainder of the weed into a small bucket she had thought to bring with her to collect refuse.

“It was my great pleasure to help you.” He bows and begins to take his leave.

“Commander,” Rey calls out, not being able to stop herself.

“Miss Kenobi?” He clicks his heels together and waits for her to continue, standing tall and at attention as if she were in command.

“You – you have some dirt on your face.” She reaches her hand out unthinkingly, and Commander Dameron makes no move to pull away. His eyes widen though, and she hears his breath whistle between his teeth as he inhales sharply. “I apologize,” Rey yanks her hand back as if she had been burned. “Here, please, use this.” She pulls out her handkerchief and offers it to the Commander.

He takes it, still oddly silent, and Rey gestures to the place on her own jaw where the dirt is on his face.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after his face is clean. He looks at the now filthy handkerchief, clearly at a loss of what to do.

“Keep it,” Rey says, ears burning in mortification. “I have many.”

“Miss Kenobi, I…” Whatever he was about to say is lost, and he smiles at her and bows again. “Please do not hesitate to call on me if you need any further assistance.”

“Thank you, Commander Dameron.” She smiles at him, and it feels like a goodbye.

When he leaves for sea a week later, Rey realizes that maybe it was.

***

Five months after the ball at Crait, in the early springtime, Rey receives something in the post at breakfast.

She looks up startled when the servant hands her the letter, and she barely remembers to thank them before examining the attractive script on the envelope.

 _Miss R. Kenobi_ is written on the outside. There’s a stamp that indicates the letter was posted three weeks ago in – Spain?

Rey excuses herself from the table and does not even hear Ben’s volley of questions. She sits in the parlor and opens the letter with shaking hands.

_Dear Miss Kenobi,_

_After a bout of bad weather, my regiment has found itself in a southern Spanish harbor that belongs to England, and I am pleased to use my knowledge of the native language to assist us in our time here (I am not sure if you are aware, but my father’s parents moved from Spain some years before his birth, in an odd twist of fate, and my parents raised me to speak both English and Spanish, a useful skill now that I am a sailor)._

_While navigating the local market, I stumbled across something that may hold some interest for you. You will find it in the envelope. Also in the envelope is a packet of seeds that a merchant tells me will work just as well in the loose soil of southern England. There are many beautiful flowers here, and the seeds, if grown with the care I know you possess in spades, will produce gorgeous orange blooms that will brighten your already spectacular garden._

_I find myself wishing to be back in the great house at Alderaan, where the warm welcome I received there always brightened my week. Until my return to my favorite shore, I hope you find these plants to be of useful company, and a way to remember me more fondly than I deserve._

_Your servant,_

_Commander Poe Dameron_

Rey reads the letter five times, completely shocked that he would write to her. How expensive it must have been to mail something from Spain. Remembering that he promised other items in the envelope, she slips her hand back inside and pulls out the packet of seeds and a small map, with something written on the back.

The map depicts the channel between Africa and Spain – on the back, the commander has written, _You were right; the Strait of Gibraltar is much bigger than your atlas suggests. PS - I did manage to sail it, but in its actual size._

Before she knows it, she is running up the stairs, pulling out the stationary she has never had reason to use, and writing a response.

_Dear Commander Dameron,_

_Thank you for your thoughtfulness in sending me a letter, and in sending the flowers. I will plant the seeds as soon as the days grow warmer. There is a spot in the garden that receives a good deal of sunlight; this will probably be the best location if your flowers are to survive._

_If you intend to collect upon these flowers, you must ensure you will return by summer’s end. I cannot make promises for managing to keep the creatures of the field away from the Spanish beauties for any longer than a few months._

She pauses then. What else should she say? She and the commander are not quite friends – he visits to speak with her brother, and their own conversations are incidental. After that first night at Crait, he has steadfastly avoided flirtation, and instead merely engages with her when something she is reading or doing strikes his fancy. Rey elects to keep the rest of the letter playful and light.

_Alderaan seems forlorn in the absence of its most venerated guest. I swear I heard the crown molding cry the other day, after the chaise reliably informed it that the commander in the blue coat would not return until the sixth month of the year. A pity then, that I cannot show the house the flowers you have sent. Then it would know that your return is guaranteed, if only to examine the outcome of your generous gift._

_Please give my regards to the Black Beauty._

_Sincerely,_

_Miss Rey Kenobi_

A day later, she gets to talk to Ben alone.

“How would one send a letter to someone on a ship?” She asks apprehensively, the envelope heavy in her pocket. Rey knows this will inspire unwanted questions.

Surprisingly, Ben asks none. He holds his hand out and she places the letter in his palm.

Ben examines the address on the front and then smiles at her, no teasing in his eyes. “I will post it myself, dear one, when I am in town this afternoon. It should arrive with his regiment in three or four weeks.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. Ben ducks her chin with a large finger and leaves her. She is deeply thankful he does not comment on the tears in her eyes. She could not begin to explain them even to herself.

***

When Commander Dameron’s response arrives, a month before his expected return, Rey wastes no time in running up the stairs to read it in the safety of her bedroom.

She does not know why she is so disappointed to learn that his voyage has been extended indefinitely, and she tries her best to hide the disappointment in her own letter. The May sunlight streams in her window, from which she can see the orange blooms born of the seeds he’d sent her in March.

She draws a small picture of Ben in the garden, sneezing at the flowers, and includes it in her response.

***

The ball at Takodana is an unmitigated disaster.

Almost nineteen years old now, Rey understands that these balls are increasingly becoming auditions for her future husband. It does not bode well that the only men whose company she can stomach are Mr. Solo, Ben, and Commander Dameron.

The commander has been away for near seven months, but he arrives a week before the festivities at Takodana. Regretfully, he arrives after news of his father’s poor health reached him; his father is a kind man, beloved by all, and Rey wishes it did not require him being gravely ill to bring his son back from sea. The only good that comes from it is the knowledge that the commander will be here at least three months to tend to his family’s estate and affairs while Mr. Kes Dameron recovers from a painful bout of pneumonia.

She finds herself anxiously waiting for the third dance, the one she promised Commander Dameron, even though her first two partners were perfectly agreeable. She smiles and talks with them easily enough, but she sighs with relief when she sees the commander walking towards her beaming.

He is not in his military colors tonight; instead he wears a stylish coat and tie, the cream of his shirt setting nicely against his tanned skin.

“You’ll not stomp on my feet, will you?” She ask him as they take their positions in the floor.

“I make no promises. Opportunities to practice the latest dances were scarce aboard the _Black Beauty,”_ he says grimly.

“I suppose I shall have to find it in myself to forgive you.” Rey sighs dramatically, and he grins in response. She missed him, strangely. He infuriates her half the time, but he’s still better company than the other men. It’s because he’s smart, she tells herself. He’s intelligent and he does not assume she is unintelligent based on her sex. Commander Dameron talks to her like an equal. That is the only reason she enjoys his company.

They banter happily through the rest of the song, and when it ends, Rey bows to him.

“My fourth dance is empty,” she tells him. Her cheeks grow pink at her boldness. She cannot ask him for a dance; but she hopes she can provoke him into asking for her.

“An utter shame,” he declares. “I would throw myself upon the sword, but I promised the fourth to Miss Pava.” The dark-haired beauty waits at the edge of the floor, and Rey smiles at her in greeting before turning back to Commander Dameron.

“And who has your fifth?” She asks curiously. He rarely dances more than four in a row; perhaps he can be persuaded into dancing that number with her. Anything to escape Mr. Draven.

“Miss Pava again,” he admits. “And the sixth.”

“Three dances in a row with the same person?” Rey looks at him archly. “I congratulate you. She is a fine partner.”

She really is; Jessika Pava is a wonderful person, and has often made Rey laugh during their acquaintance. She is playful and smart, and four years Rey’s senior, with an actual fortune. Any man would be lucky to dance with her.

Rey bows to Commander Dameron, ignoring whatever smart comment he starts to make, and stalks off the floor.

She sits against the wall, and after suffering through ten minutes of watching Miss Pava and Commander Dameron make each other laugh, she huffs and gladly accepts Mr. Draven’s hand. Rey laughs a bit more freely with him than usual, feeling something wild and angry inside of herself. Jealousy. She feels jealous. Jealous of _what_? How easily a woman like Miss Pava can secure a man such as Commander Dameron’s interest? That must be it. Rey is jealous at the difference in their circumstances.

Mr. Draven seems to have no such difficulties in paying attention to Rey, and she bows, almost happy at the end of the number. She begs off another dance, even though she has the next free, claiming she needs to speak with Mrs. Solo.

She does in fact seek out Leia, who makes room for her in the circle of older women she stands in. Rey enjoys the spirited conversation between women whose positions are so secure they need not care for decorum or politic, and she almost forgets the newfound beast in her chest.

Unwillingly, she’s sent back to the ballroom a quarter of an hour later by Mrs. Solo. “Don’t waste your youth, my dear,” she’d said, pushing Rey between the shoulder blades. “Go meet someone. Find an interesting man to entertain yourself with. It’s not a betrothal to just dance with them.”

Rey sighs and enters the ballroom, and she sees Commander Dameron at the end of his third dance with Miss Pava. She begrudgingly admits that they make a fine pair, and she goes to speak with Miss Kun, one of her favorite young ladies, for a distraction. They giggle behind their hands about the drunken state of Mr. Thompson, a kind old gentleman who’s currently singing “Greensleeves.”

“But sir, it’s three months until Christmas,” Miss Kun protests. Mr. Thompson waves his hand at them cheerfully and wanders off, belching between the words.

Rey dissolves into more giggles, feeling the effects of the punch in her hand.

“May I borrow Miss Kenobi?” Commander Dameron is suddenly standing in front of them; Miss Pava is nowhere to be seen.

“You may not,” Rey smiles at him sharply and turns back to her friend. Miss Kun gives her a quizzical look, and turns to smile at the commander herself.

“Of course you can, I was just leaving.” She gives Rey another unreadable look and walks away from them, towards a collection of young people in the corner of the room. Rey spies Commander Trexlin striking up a conversation with her, and she sighs, having lost an ally.

“Yes, Commander?” She asks him coolly, far more cool than she should be with an acquaintance of over a year, a man who she definitely despises some days, but still counts as a friend.

“I was wondering if you had reserved any of the upcoming dances,” he says nervously.

“I have,” she answers. “Besides, your last partner is much more enjoyable than I am. Your flirtations are better spent elsewhere.”

“My –“ The commander looks confused. “I danced with her Miss Kenobi, that is all.”

“It does not matter,” she smiles at him, finding the strength to do at least that. He looks slightly relieved at the expression. “I only have one more free dance for the evening, and Mrs. Solo has just encouraged me to find a new person to meet, to see if I can charm any unwitting gentleman into making me an offer.”

“Surely she didn’t suggest –”

“You know me fairly well at this point, Commander. It will do me good to test my limited charms with a stranger. We can always talk after the dancing is over.” She does not wish to hurt him, so why does he look so grieved?

“Miss Kenobi, it would be a great honor –”

Rey pushes through his attempt at an offer, her pride already wounded enough without his pity. “Go back to Miss Pava, you’ll have better luck with her.” Rey hates the petty jealousy rising inside of her. She can barely stand the Navy man; why does it vex her so to see him flirting with other women, especially a woman that she actually enjoys the company of?

“Miss Pava.” Commander Dameron looks at her, almost irate now. “Please understand that Miss Pava is being courted by another officer; Lieutenant Iolo. I dance with her while he is away, so she feels less lonely.” His tone is reproachful by the end.

Oh. He thinks her cruel. “I was not aware,” Rey admits, thin-lipped. “I regret to hear of Miss Pava’s separation from her love. It sounds most painful.”

“It is indeed painful, painful beyond measure, to be separated from the one you love,” Poe agrees readily. He stares at her face for far, far longer than is appropriate in a ballroom. How did this conversation spiral from her control so quickly? She should learn to check her temper in the presence of this infuriating man.

“Then it is for the best that I am destined to die an old maid, regardless of Mrs. Solo’s intentions tonight.” Rey flutters her fan, actually needing the extra draft. The air is stifling in here.

“Surely some lucky man will eventually catch your eye, Miss Kenobi, if one hasn’t already.” The Commander regards her earnestly, and Rey forces herself to return the gaze.

“The problem is not who catches my eye, Commander.” She reminds him with steel in her voice. “The issue at hand is that I am not enough to catch someone’s eye; at least, not long enough for a serious attachment to occur. I am a nobody, with nothing. I have nothing to offer a man of any stature.”

“I have been in your acquaintance for a year and a half, and I have long considered you one of the brightest people I know,” Dameron says. Rey looks at him, momentarily blinded by the compliment.  “But that was some of the most unforgivably foolish hogwash I have ever heard.”

Before she can ask what he means, Mr. Armitage Hux approaches to request the honor of her last free dance. She’s so off-kilter by Commander Dameron’s words, she accepts without thinking. He bows deeply, bids a polite greeting to the Commander, and walks off into the party.

“Perhaps Mr. Hux has caught your eye, then?” Poe asks. His tone is light, but she can sense an undercurrent of anger, or perhaps resignation. “A stranger to ‘test your charms’ on?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rey snaps. “I don’t even know why I said that, I was only teasing you. No; Armitage Hux is the son of a Baron, and it would be a grievous error for me to reject an offer as harmless as a dance. Mrs. Solo herself impressed upon me the necessity of her family staying in the Hux’s good graces. I do this for the family that has taken me in, and for no other reason.” His face looks all too smug suddenly, so she adds waspishly, “Besides, I danced the third number with you, but you did not accuse me of an untoward regard for yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he admits, a softer smile than usual playing at his plush lips. _Oh._  

Commander Trexlin approaches Commander Dameron, hailing him about some military manner, and Rey greets him before excusing herself. She walks towards the open windows, hoping to catch fresh air, and her breath. She doesn’t know exactly when she even began to regard Commander Dameron’s lips in any light, to consider them ‘plush,’ or to imagine the things she would like to see them do other than tease and smile and smirk.

Rey gasps the cool autumn air, chest heaving at the realization that she wants to kiss the smirk he wears like armor, kiss it until it falls away and can never come back, not in her presence.

These are not the thoughts of a lady, and she blames the punch from supper, and the humid, sticky air of the ballroom. She collects herself after ten minutes of respite and returns to her duty as ward to the Solos.

When she dances the waltz with Hux, she smiles prettily at him and laughs sweetly at his attempts at humor. He’s not a bad dancer; in fact, he’s fairly accomplished, and the only thing she truly doesn’t like about their time together is the self-satisfaction that appears on his face whenever he does anything remotely impressive, like converse well or move his feet well or lead her around the room well. In essence, the self-satisfaction never leaves his face.

They dance extremely well together; the difference in their sizes lends itself to the way they can move through the number. He is more than a head taller than she is, and they are both slim, Hux fashionably so. Their steps are light and agile. She hears people murmur, impressed, at the skill of their dancing, and Rey lets herself be caught up in it, all too happy to be the center of attention that is _positive_ for once. Her face flushes from the excitement, and she laughs readily with Hux throughout the second half of the dance.

She catches Commander Dameron’s eye over Hux’s shoulder when she bows to her partner at the end, and the stare he’s affixed her with is one not only of awe, but also of something darker, something possessive, something that makes her blood surge. It’s gone in a second, and then he’s applauding the dancing couples appropriately with the others in the audience.

Half an hour later, when she’s danced a reel with the elder Mr. Solo and laughed at how they both stepped on each other’s feet, she walks away from the ballroom. Rey opens a door to a private room that she remembers having a set of doors that leads to a garden, and her heart stops.

She spies Commander Dameron whispering into the ear of a pretty young woman, Miss Tallissan Lintra, under the flickering candlelight. He throws his head back and laughs, his dark brown curls tossing behind him while the line of his throat is fully exposed. Miss Lintra laughs too, an intimate, familiar noise that she doesn’t hide behind her delicate hand.

Commander Dameron lifts his hand and strokes her upper arm once. Rey makes the mistake of letting the door close behind her, and she turns to look at the traitorous thing when it thuds shut.

“Miss Kenobi?” Miss Lintra addresses her, so she forces herself to turn around and smile at them, the expression feeling stiff. The woman smiles at her politely, looking concerned at whatever she sees on Rey’s face.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Lintra, I did not know you were involved in a private conversation. I merely wished to pass through and visit the gardens.” She points feebly at the open doors.

“Miss Kenobi.” It’s Commander Dameron this time. He doesn’t say anything else, but she sees his throat working against something. Probably mortification that she caught them in a tender moment.

“I will be out of your way, now.” Rey smiles at them again, and _drat,_ why won’t her face act the way it normally does? “Sir. Ma’am.” She bows awkwardly and almost runs to the open door. She flees down the stairs into the hedges, cursing her heart for pounding so.

For all she knows, Commander Poe Dameron and Miss Tallissan Lintra, with her 8000 pound inheritance, are kissing right now. They could be securing their engagement right now.

Commander Dameron is older than her by seven years; he’s a wealthy, well-connected Naval officer, her brother’s best friend; and, goodness knows she finds the man infuriating. Why does she care who he meets for clandestine conversations in the dark? She reaches a break in the hedges, and she spins to rest her back against a shrub. Her chest heaves, breath threatening to hitch and turn into a sob, and she stoically ignores it. Rey clutches at the branches poking into her back, admiring the sharp edges of the pinnate leaves beneath her palms even as it digs into her skin.

“Miss Kenobi!” Perfect. Her sylvan haven disrupted, by the very man she’s trying to hide from.

“Commander Dameron.” She doesn’t push herself up from the embrace of the bush. He stumbles to a halt in front of her.

“What you saw back there, she – I –”

“It’s alright, Commander. Your secret is safe with me.” Rey smiles at him reassuringly, even though her own heart feels twisted by the action. It’s absurd, really. She only just realized she wanted to kiss him, not even an hour and a half ago. Her heart doesn’t get to break over this, this unintentional slight.

“No, Miss Kenobi –”Dameron takes an unwitting half-step forward, and she inhales sharply when his boots rock up against her own feet.

Rey raises her hand to silence and freeze him, and mercifully he obeys. “Stop, I implore you.”

“Miss Kenobi, you’re – you’re bleeding.” He stares in horror at her palm.

Sure enough, the branches that formed her safe harbor have drawn blood. Rey forces herself to sound calm as she says, “So I am. But, Commander, I assure you: I have no intention of ruining Miss Lintra’s honor, or telling others of your relationship. Do not worry, Commander. I do not judge either of you. I wish you both happiness.” She stands up fully, and moves to walk past him.

“Rey—” He catches her by the upper arm, and she stiffens at the familiarity of his words and his actions.

“It is Miss Kenobi,” she corrects him angrily. She tugs her arm back viciously, most likely bruising it due to his tight grip, and she gives a soft cry of pain. He releases her as if she had struck him with lightning. Before he can apologize, she continues, not caring if the hurt she feels –the hurt that has nothing to do with the throbbing in her arm – leaks into her voice. “You may call your lady by her first name, but you do not call me by mine. She may be Tallissan to you, or even Tallie, but I am Miss Kenobi, an orphan, a ward, a burden; and you are Commander Dameron, a war hero, a gentleman, and apparently, a man engaged elsewhere. Do not forget the difference in our stations; God knows I can’t.”

“Miss Kenobi,” he protests, weakly.

“Goodnight, Commander,” Rey bites out, a tear escaping. She dashes it away angrily. “Do not follow me. I will not betray your confidence, so please allow me my privacy.” Rey storms off into the maze, and thankfully, he obeys this order too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cue interlude music from the 1995 A&E production of Pride and Prejudice*
> 
> This is technically a two-shot! The second half is another >10k words because I have no self control, as ever, and then a brief epilogue 
> 
> It should be up soon, I mostly just wanted to break it up so it wasn't so massive!


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a riding accident in the late winter, Commander Dameron continues to send letters and mixed messages; Rey struggles with her growing feelings for the commander, as he continues to demonstrate his thoughtfulness and kindness. 
> 
> The two share a number of private moments, and when it comes time for the commander to undergo a dangerous mission, Rey does not know how to handle the shockingly vast feelings she possesses for her sailor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind that this is a happy ending fic with plenty o' that good Regency era angst, so even when it seems impossible, a happy ending will occur. 
> 
>  
> 
> (aka "Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.”)
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> (Also potential warning: character mentions wanting to be dead, very briefly.)

“Mr. Hux is here to call upon you.”

Rey barely hears Leia’s pronouncement, but relief washes through her as she reads her book of sermons in the window seat. Hux is here to speak with Ben, which means Commander Dameron will move with him; both have been sitting in the sunroom with her for a hour now, and the commander had tried to catch her ear several times. She was not rude in her responses, but neither did she respond in a way that could possibly generate a further interest in what she had to say. Commander Dameron had looked most put out after five minutes of such attempts to gain her attention, and Rey had felt a flush of victory. That is, until she saw the disapproving frown upon Ben’s face.

Let him frown, though. He knows not what transpired at the ball at Takodana; he had merely found her weeping in the maze, and once it was established that none had harmed her, and her honor remained intact, Ben had not offered questions, and only offered to call the carriage. They had left the ball without further excitement, Ben sweeping her under his arm to the front of the manor, and Leia and Han joining them. Leia had been suspicious, but one sharp look from her son encouraged her not to ask her questions. Han had simply slept the entire ride back to Alderaan. Rey had entered her room shortly after their arrival and did not reemerge til mid-day, her head held high, and her heart somewhat hardened against the county’s favorite officer.

Here in the present, three months later, the weak sun of December plays upon her neck, and she waits for Ben and Commander Dameron to attend to Mr. Hux.

“Did you hear me, my dear?”

Leia is addressing Rey, so she snaps her book shut and smiles at her patron. “I heard you, ma’am. You said that Mr. Hux was here to call upon Ben.”

“No, you mistake me, Rey. Mr. Hux is here to call upon _you_.”

Rey rises from her cushion unthinkingly. “Here? To call upon?” She’s completely flabbergasted, a word Ben had taught her. “He’s here for me?”

“Yes, Rey.” She has a feeling Leia’s patience is helped by the amusement obvious in her eyes. “Come on,” she gestures with her hand for Rey to grab it and follow her from the room. Rey is still holding her book, seemingly struck dumb, when she takes it.

“But ma’am,” she hisses, tugging on her motherly guardian, who is already leading them to the door. “Mrs. Solo, I cannot greet him like this. I do not think I am properly dressed.” It’s true; her dress is pretty, but not fine. It is a warm green color, with a silver sash; her hair, at least, is braided nicely, her favorite ribbon running through it, the silk stained a shade to match her dress.

“Nonsense, my dear,” Leia stops trying to drag her towards the door and squeezes her hand comfortingly. Rey smiles at her, forgetting they have an audience in Ben and the commander. “Mr. Hux is here to see you, not your dress.” Rey laughs nervously, and then releases Leia’s hand to smooth her hair, and then her dress. She nods, firmly, and then turns to hand Ben her book. He takes it with a sardonic nod.

“Thank you,” she whispers at him. “Wish me luck.”

“I’d sooner wish Hux luck,” Ben says under his breath. Rey smirks at him and turns to follow Leia once more.

She makes the utter, utter mistake of looking at Commander Dameron, who sits to Ben’s left.

He schools his features quickly when they make eye contact, and Rey thinks she must have imagined the torment writ upon his handsome face. Why should Commander Dameron care who calls upon her, when he has a love of his own? Surely he cannot expect her to spend all her free hours with him and Ben. The very idea is selfish. Rey knows she needs to find a husband, and while she doubts the son of a Baron will ever make her an offer, the cool, calculating part of her brain that has whirred and hummed ever since she was a child forced to survive, tells her that the attentions of a Baron’s son will encourage more eligible, suitable men to call upon her as well.

Commander Dameron’s face is still tight with something as he stands to bow at her. Rey looks at him in confusion. Almost a year and a half into their knowing each other, there is no such need for formality. He certainly hasn’t felt the need to rise whenever she left the room since last winter, if she recalls correctly. She bows back though; even if he cannot remember his manners, she can.

“Miss Kenobi,” he says halfway through his bow. He straightens and regards her sadly, and Rey cannot help but note that the man makes her name sound like a question.

“Commander Dameron,” she says, hoping it sounds like an answer; she hopes it sounds like, _I do not mean to be cruel to you when I ignore you, but we were close and I wrongfully assumed your attentions to me were not brotherly, and then you crushed my heart like eggshells without trying, and I apologize but I cannot let that happen again._

Rey does not believe the message translates.

She smiles kindly at the commander though, and he returns it, hesitantly, but then joyfully. Their eye contact is prolonged, bordering on inappropriate. She knows Leia and Ben stare at them, so she blinks, and the spell is broken. Rey feels her face flush, and she almost runs out the door to walk with Leia to the drawing room. She hears the rumble of Ben’s voice from the sunroom, but she does not strain her ears to hear Commander Dameron’s response.

Armitage Hux is not an unpleasant man, she’s come to find. He does not have such happy manners as some military officers, nor does he have a quick wit or the Romantic features of a strong brow, broad shoulders, a dark complexion, and wild hair, which she knows to be her preference in the male sex. But he has been attentive to Rey at the last few social meetings, always polite and kind in his attempts to make conversations. She finds that she rather holds her tongue in his presence; something about him makes her nervous. Not in the same way Commander Dameron made her nervous at their first meeting, but, certainly not nervous in a terrible fashion, either. 

Their conversation today lasts near half an hour, and Rey finds herself laughing naturally more than once. She knows it is not proper for a lady to laugh in front of a man she does not know well, but she cannot help it. Mr. Hux is—well, he’s humorous. Not in the same way Ben is, as he often makes her laugh uproariously without a shred of decorum with an impression or a well-crafted comment; nor is Hux funny in the same way as Commander Dameron, whose rapier wit and lightning-quick speech often catches Rey up in its layers and complexity, inciting her to respond with an almost competitive air. No, Mr. Hux’s humor is different. Well-studied, but also well-accompanied by the natural animation of his face. And, to his credit, the once-stiff son of a Baron seems genuinely pleased to cause Rey to laugh. At the very least, he continues to attempt to elicit laughter from her, which is a good indication of his approval.

It is a truly diverting half hour, and Rey is almost sad to see him go. Now that she tries to ignore Commander Dameron, her conversations have been limited. She still can speak freely with Ben, but not when the commander is here, and he seems to be here more often than not these days.

She bids Mr. Hux a fond farewell, and she graciously accepts his invitation to dine at his home. Leia is also invited as chaperone, and she is told that Ben and Han will also be welcome. Rey warmly allows Hux to take her hand when he stands in the doorway, and she thinks that he is quite a handsome man, after all, with his flaming red hair and sweet blue eyes. He kisses the air above her hand, and Rey smiles at the gesture. Nothing twists in her stomach, and her heart remains at ever the same pace from before, but she cannot help the girlish smile on her face. Mr. Hux’s attention is flattering, naturally, and she thinks it will do her good to converse with a man whose interest in her is so clear.

And it is harmless, she tells herself as she watches him walk down the steps of Alderaan, a bit of a skip in his step. No son of a Baron could possibly make her an offer. This is merely practice.

Rey returns to the sunroom to reclaim her book, and she is surprised to see the men still sitting.

“Did you two not wish to take a turn about the grounds?” Rey asks mock-bewilderment. “Are you turned to stone? This must be the longest I’ve seen you sit in one fashion, Commander.” Sure enough, the normally energetic man seems nailed to his seat, even now. She enters the room, and he stands, shoving his chair back several inches in the ferocity of his motion.

“Miss Kenobi,” he greets, bowing stiffly.

“Commander Dameron,” she acknowledges, deeply amused. She finds that she is not so angry with him, now.

Rey collects her book and returns to a seat closer to the gentlemen from before. Even though the subject matter of her reading is serious, she knows there is a giddy smile on her face. Hux will not make a husband, not for Rey Kenobi, but she is not immune to flattery or charm.

Rey’s feet tap against the floor quietly as she recalls the steps of a new dance. She wonders if Ben will practice with her if she asks – maybe even the commander. They’re both fine dance partners, and there is never any harm in dancing.

She is about to request one of them as her partner when Ben speaks. “Dear sister, how was Mr. Hux this afternoon?”

Rey looks up, surprised. “He was well, brother.” She goes back to her book, not knowing where Ben will take this line of questioning.

“Well? Just well?” When Rey looks up this time, she looks to Commander Dameron imploringly. Strangely, he is staring out the window, eyes glazed over. She does not think he listens at all.

So, she answers more fully. “He was very funny. I was surprised to see he had such a sense of humor. He told me a most delightful story about his time in the city. He is only four years older than me, but it feels like a much greater difference, he has traveled and lived so much more than I have.” She turns pink at the length of her speech; she had not meant to speak for that long.

Something seems to snap in the commander, and he blinks several times before Ben can respond to Rey’s monologue. “Pardon me,” Commander Dameron says, standing and bowing awkwardly. “I must leave. I did not know the hour was so late.”

“Late?” Rey says, rising as well, and holding her hands awkwardly in front of her body. She has to clasp them to stop from reaching out to the commander. She does not want him to leave, not when she feels the ice around her heart finally thawing. “But sir, it is not three o’clock.”

“Is it?” The commander looks strangled, and he bows again. “I bid you good day, then, and not good night.” He walks quickly from the room, the back of his neck flaming red, and not two minutes later, Rey sees him depart the grounds, spurring his horse into a gallop the second he clears the portico.

“What on earth was that about?” Rey asks bemusedly.

“If you do not know, I could not possibly explain it to you,” Ben drawls from the sofa. Rey fixes him with a glare, but he shrugs. Ben looks reproachful at first, but then he examines her face and something shifts in his own. “Oh, sister,” he sighs. “You really do not know. Come, tell me more about your visit with Armitage.”

Rey sits across from him, and Ben seems almost surprised at her unwillingness to mock Mr. Hux with him.

“He’s just… he’s just so kind, Ben.” She protests.

“To you, maybe. He can be a right ass to those who do not happen to be young, sweet-faced beauties.”

“Oh hush.” Rey leans over to smack her book against Ben’s knee.

He rubs the spot and grins at her. “You’ve been spending too much time with my mother.” She sticks her tongue out at him childishly, which he returns. Both open a book a few minutes later, and they pass the rest of the afternoon before supper reading.

It is a pleasant day, in all, but Rey cannot shake the feeling that something truly grievous had befallen the commander while she had been entertaining Mr. Hux. She has half a mind to ask Ben about it after supper, but she stops herself. Her interest in the commander would not be proper. Let him tell her if something was wrong. If he does not tell her, she will tuck the curiosity, her biggest vice, away. She is getting better at doing just that with constant practice.

***

On a strangely warm day in February, Hux calls upon her, which is now a fairly regular occurrence. She and the commander are back on more normal footing, but whenever Hux appears whilst she is already with Ben and Dameron, the sailor's face changes colour. Rey does not know what to make of it.

Still, Mr. Hux is an entertaining diversion, and when he proposes a ride through the nearby countryside, she eagerly accepts. Ben and Commander Dameron are invited as well, and she swears she sees something in the man's face twitch when he and Ben are declared 'chaperone' to the activity by Leia. 

"You realize you will have to ride sidesaddle," Ben mutters to her as the servants tack the horses. Rey shrugs, too excited at the prospect of fresh air to really mind. Mr. Hux is a large proponent of propriety, and while she would have pulled on a pair of breeches and ridden normally were it just Ben and Dameron, she knows she must play the part of lady in front of the son of a Baron. 

Mr. Hux is already astride his grey horse and showing off, trotting around the courtyard when Commander Dameron appears at her side. 

"Do you need assistance getting on the horse?" He asks. Rey nods and sighs. It is so much more inconvenient to climb on a horse in a dress, especially when she must ride sidesaddle. Commander Dameron kneels down, not caring about getting dirt from the barn on his clean riding britches, and he pats his knee, clearly instructing Rey to step on him to mount her horse. 

She rocks back and forth anxiously for a moment before complying. 

"I hope I did not crush you," she laughs from her perch atop the horse. 

"Of course you did not, Miss Kenobi," he tells her solemnly, pulling on his riding gloves. "You are lighter than air itself."

He jumps on his horse with great ease, and soon he has passed Hux and Ben, already heading for the road. 

Commander Dameron is easily the best rider in the party; although Rey secretly thinks to herself that if she were allowed to ride the way she usually does, she may have given him a decent race. 

Rey knows she spends too much time studying Dameron's form, and she forces herself to make conversation with Hux as they trot down the lane, and up into the field. He is pleasant as always, if a bit red-faced from exertion. She can tell he is not a man of sport.

Suddenly, he leans down and hits her horse on the rear, playfully. The horse rears, not expecting this, and Rey shouts in surprise, trying to control it. The horse gallops briefly, tossing its head, and Rey feels a great deal of sympathy for the beast, even as she resolves herself to being thrown.

Sure enough, she soon finds herself flying through the air, and she lands on her back with a majestic crack, her head glancing off the ground and the air forced from her lungs. Rey internally tells herself not to panic, but she still gasps desperately, trying to force breath through her lungs. 

She hears Commander Dameron unleash a series of curses that she doubts he has ever had cause to say in front of a lady, but her body aches so badly that all she can do is agree silently with him.  _Bugger_ indeed.

"R-- Miss Kenobi, are you alright?" She cannot answer the commander's earnest question, but she blinks slowly, and gasps harder, feeling air start to inflate her lungs once more. Rey coughs weakly, like a small child, and flexes her hands and feet. She can feel all four limbs, which she knows is very lucky. Similar falls have broken spines. She thinks she is merely the victim of a number of fierce bruises, and maybe a broken rib. Her head is the worst; she cannot focus on anything, and Dameron's face swims in and out of her sight. 

"Is the horse alright?" She manages to gasp out.

"I beg your pardon?" Commander Dameron's face is so near her own, his hands hovering over her body.  _Why won't he just touch me? He has a reason to._ Then she remembers that he is most likely promised to Miss Lintra, and she does not begrudge him the distance between their bodies. 

"The horse?" She tries again, sounding a little stronger, but groaning through the pain in her head. "Is she okay?"

"Yes, Hux caught the horse," the commander laughs, weakly. "Are you really asking after the horse?"

“I will ride for the doctor!” Ben shouts from a distance, already spurring his black steed toward the main road into town. Rey moans louder, the pain almost too much to bear. She whimpers when she feels Dameron's hands on her shoulders, his fingers brushing her forehead.

“What are you doing, Commander?” Hux’s voice is sharp, and Rey does not care for it. Everything should be quiet, soft, to match the pillows of confoundment and muffled pain in her head. She feels a strong arm behind her back, and another under her knees before she’s lifted from the earth and cradled against a strong chest.

“I am taking her back to Alderaan, so she does not have to wait for the doctor on a dirt path,” Dameron is infuriated, a new emotion for him. He has always been so good-natured. “Now, be useful and stay out of my way. You’ve done enough for today, I think.”

“Are you alright, Miss Kenobi?” Commander Dameron asks anxiously while he carries her off.

“Yes,” she answers, hating how piteous she sounds. “You don’t have to carry me, I can walk.”

“You do not have to,” he says softly.

“Just as well,” Rey groans. “My head hurts something fierce.”

He makes a soothing sound, and Rey takes advantage of this opportunity study his face openly. Dameron catches her staring, and ask, “Do I have something displeasing on my face, my lady?”

“Quite the opposite,” she says dazedly. “Did you know that you are a terribly handsome man?”

His neck, which she is very close to, burns red. “You must be grievously injured indeed, Miss Kenobi.”

“Not so injured that I lost my sight.” Rey’s eyes slide shut. “But I do fear that focusing on one object is proving to be a most…difficult task.”

“Rest, then, Miss Kenobi.” Commander Dameron’s arms tighten around her, and she hums happily, enjoying the sensation even through her pain. She floats for what could be a minute or an hour. His chest is broad, and warm. She quite likes it. He does not wear his jacket – she wonders where it is.

“I left it with Hux and the horses, my lady.”

“I said that out loud?” She asks. “Did I say anything else out loud?”

“No, Miss Kenobi.” The commander’s voice sounds like it has a smile in it, which makes her smile. “Why, was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” she moans, hiding her face in his shirt, pretending she does not hear his inhalation when her nose brushes over the left side of his chest. “No, sir, nothing else.”

“I beseech you to rest, Miss Kenobi. Do not let me tease you any longer,” Poe – Commander Dameron, she corrects herself – says.

His boots strike something other than dirt; stone, now. They must have arrived at the doors of Alderaan.

Sure enough, his gait changes, suggesting that they are walking up the front stairs. “Open the doors,” he shouts. Rey winces, perceptibly. “I apologize, Miss Kenobi. Once I get you settled I shall speak only in whispers until the doctor arrives.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

“You’ll not leave me?” She is in too much pain to regret the weak need behind the question.

“Never, Miss Kenobi.” There is silence after his oath, and she knows they’re walking into the front sitting room, judging by the light that crosses her closed eyelids.

Commander Dameron sets her down tenderly upon a couch, and Rey collapses into it. Her head has begun to throb in earnest now, and she can feel where her wrist will be, at the very least, bruised to the bone. Her back hurts as well – funny how she did not notice while being cradled in a man’s arms, but when she lies upon French upholstery, she feels the bruises forming.

“Are you still feeling alright, my lady?”

“No,” Rey moans, semi-dramatically. She sweeps her uninjured arm across her eyes. “No, I’m not alright. I’ve changed my mind. You must leave me here to expire, Commander. I refuse to die with an audience.”

She thinks she must be imagining the warmth of his hand on her wrist, holding her tight.

“Do not say such a thing, sunbeam.” He must have released her wrist already, if he had held it at all, for she’s able to drop her arm back at her side.

“Sunbeam?” Rey wrinkles her nose, not understanding.

“Sorry,” he laughs shyly, and she wishes she could open her eyes and see his handsome, ridiculous face. “I have considered using that name with you for a while; it seems most fitting, but I did not want to risk more unwanted familiarity.”

“I like it,” Rey says magnanimously, waving her uninjured wrist in the air. “I give you my permission to use it whenever you see fit, Commander.” She buries herself back in the throbbing pain of her head, before adding, “But perhaps maybe just when we are alone.”

“You do not mind so much, being alone with me?” He asks, and she tells herself that she imagines the hope in his voice.

“I do not mind at all, Commander Dameron,” she answers sleepily. Her brow furrows when she adds, “But perhaps your beloved might.”

“My beloved?”

“Miss Lintra. I do not wish to upset her. She has always been very kind to me; she is one of my favorite ladies in the county. A good horseback rider – I bet she does not get thrown so easily.”

“You being thrown had nothing to do with your skill, and everything to do with Hux being an absolute cur,” Dameron sounds adamant. “Forgive my language. And Miss Lintra is not my beloved, she has her cap set on someone else, and that is what we were discussing that night at the ball.”

“And you?” Rey asks because her head will allow her to be free with her curiosity, when this damnable society she’s found herself in will not. “Who do you have your cap set on?”

“I –”

The door bangs open, and Rey hears the unmistakable deep voice of Ben Solo.

“I’ve brought the doctor, is she alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Solo, she’s been talking the last thirty minutes.”

“Good man, Commander.” That’s Doctor Andor, who had examined her ankle last year when she jumped off a tree and landed the wrong way. She likes Doctor Andor; he had not scolded her when he heard the reason for the sprain, merely laughed uproariously and asked after the height of the tree, and the condition of the ground below it. He had even nodded, impressed, when she told him proudly that she had been seven feet off the ground when she had leapt. 

“I will leave you now,” Commander Dameron tells her gently. She feels him standing, and even though they were not touching, she absurdly misses his warmth.

“No,” she protests weakly, “Commander—" She is cut off by her adopted brother.

“You forget yourself, sister,” Ben hisses between his teeth. “I cannot thank you enough, Commander.” He sounds so impossibly formal. “And I am sure, once she is feeling more herself, Miss Kenobi will thank you as well.”

“It will not be necessary,” Commander Dameron’s voice sounds far away. “I do not require thanks for helping a lady in need.”

The doctor pronounces that she rest for three weeks; he also pronounces that she must be made of steel, or marble, or some other hardy substance. He winks at Rey while he packs his bag.

“Don’t tell her that, doctor,” Ben scolds from his perch in the armchair, “You’ll only encourage her.”

Doctor Andor takes his leave and rides back to town after Ben secures his payment.

Her adoptive brother sweeps back into the room and considers her, his brow arched dubiously.

“Yes, Mr. Solo?” She asks him, wincing as she sits upright.

“Nothing, nothing.” He sighs and then comes to stand above her on the sofa. Suddenly, his great body collapses, and he drapes himself over the cushions, his large arm bumping into her shoulder as he wails, “Help me, Commander Dameron, help me!”

Rey pinches his side, and Ben rolls away, laughing heartily.

***

Commander Dameron calls on her a week after the accident. He walks into the sunroom and grins at her conspiratorially when he sees that she is working – not so diligently – on a sampler. She ignores his mirth and invites him to sit.

“I could not possibly infringe upon your hospitality, my lady.” He bows at her from his position near the doorway. Ben stands behind his shoulder and moves his eyebrows up and down in a way that makes her want to throw her basket of thread at his large head.

“You very possibly could,” Rey protests, setting her sampler aside. “Please, allow me to avoid this task for as long as possible.”

“If you insist.” Dameron smiles warmly and comes to sit in a chair across the rug from her reclining couch; Ben stands behind him, most likely so he can continue to pull faces at her stupor. She arranges the blanket around her lap self-consciously, and wonders if her hair looks acceptable. She shakes her head and resists the urge to roll her eyes at herself – she will not become an empty-headed ninny, not for all the handsome, charming officers in the Navy. 

“You look better,” he says softly. “I am relieved to see you sitting upright.” Ben clears his throat, and Dameron flinches slightly, seemingly having forgotten his friend was behind him.

He asks after her practice at the pianoforte, and he and Ben laugh when she reminds them she is just as unaccomplished as ever. They chat aimlessly for ten or so minutes, and then Ben hums thoughtfully.

“Allow me to step out for a moment, Commander, Miss Kenobi.” He walks to the door. “I forgot that I had told my mother I would pay the delivery boy at the kitchen entrance at fifteen past the hour. I won’t be more than a few minutes.” He does not wait for either of them to respond, but Rey sees him wink – at her? At the Commander? – before he takes his leave.

Rey fiddles with her sampler for something to do when the door closes behind Ben. After a few moments of silence, she has to speak.

“I thank you for your kindness last week, Commander,” she says, not looking up, fearing what he will see on her face.

“I heard Mr. Hux made you an offer on Sunday,” he blurts out. Rey raises her eyes at that, surprised that he’d heard the gossip. He always insisted that he did not listen to rumors – but here he is, listening all the same.

“He did,” she says calmly. She smiles at him patiently.

“Did you – did you accept?” He leans forward, eyes almost wild.

“What do you think?” Rey sets her sampler aside completely and stares at him, raising a single eyebrow.

“I could not possibly make conjectures upon your mind, Miss Kenobi,” he answers quietly. It’s so rare to see mirth missing from his face, that it gives her pause. “It has led me so often astray in the past to try to do just that.”

“I did not accept his proposal,” she answers, and she’s surprised at the lack of teasing in her voice. She sounds quiet, thoughtful, unlike herself. “Mr. Hux is the son of a Baron, and after a lengthy conversation, I reminded him of the difference in our circumstances, at which point he withdrew his offer, and maintained that we should always be friends.”

“You are too good a creature, and it is Hux who would be marrying above his station," Dameron tells her. “Did it – did it disappoint you to refuse him?”

“The man had just caused me to be thrown from a horse, and apparently sought treatment for a torn fingernail afterwards,” Rey giggles behind her hand. “I do not think he would be a fit husband for me, just as much as I would not be a fit wife for him.”

“Oh.” Commander Dameron looks oddly pleased at this news. “A torn fingernail? Perhaps I should call on him and inquire after his health after I leave here.”

“You are too charitable, sir.” Rey laughs fully at that, and Dameron joins in with her, pulling a pillow onto his lap and fidgeting with the fringe. As if by God’s design, the sun bursts through the clouds it had been hiding behind all day, and the room floods with golden light. Rey tilts her face up and continues to laugh brightly, closing her eyes and enjoying the sudden warmth. 

He stops laughing and when she opens her eyes to look at him, he’s staring at her openly.

“Commander?”

Dameron blinks and smiles shyly. “I just – ‘sunbeam’ is an appropriate name, is all.”

Rey blushes at the nickname. “I thought I had imagined you calling me that.”

“I assure you, it happened.” He smooths a hand over the pillow, biting his bottom lip.

“Are you sure? For we have been in private for near ten minutes, and you have yet to use it.” Rey says this more bravely than she feels.

 “I apologize,” The commander sits up straight on the couch, sets the pillow aside, and rests his arms on his legs while he regards her somberly. “You look well in the light, today, my sunbeam.”

Rey wants to blame it on the sun on her face that she flushes so completely, and she feels her teeth worrying at her lip before she smiles at Commander Dameron. He smiles back, sweeter than a sugar cube on her tongue, and Rey is startled out of their quiet moment when Ben bounces back into the room.

“I hope my mother wanted the pork and not the beef for dinner tonight,” Ben declares, dropping onto the couch next to Rey. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

Commander Dameron looks mildly strangled, but shakes his head. Ben hands Rey her sampler, and she returns to her stitches. The men engage in a conversation about ship movements that she does not find particularly interesting, but it’s soothing to hear the rich baritone of Ben and the strong, attractive tenor of Commander Dameron. Every so often she looks up and catches the commander’s eyes on her face, but they always dart away before she can be really sure that he’s looking at her.

***

When the letters come during his next journey, a three month venture, Rey responds for longer than half a page, and she continues to write a response to each one.

She keeps the new letters in a small box on her dresser, with the letters he sent her last year before Takodana, and she ignores Ben’s knowing smile each time the post comes with a new one for her, addressed in the steady, looping hand of Commander Dameron.

Rey keeps each letter locked safe like treasure; the Solos know she receives the letters, but they do not know that she spends more time than she should each night in the candlelight, like a ritual, tracing his signature over and over again, whispering his full name to herself.

Each letter is signed,

_Yours, truly,_

_Commander Poe Dameron._

Rey does not know what to make of any of it. When Commander Dameron returns to Yavin several months later, Rey counts nine letters total in her box. They are the most precious things she’s ever owned.

***

She is in the library, looking for a book, when Commander Dameron enters. He has been at his home for the beginning of summer, and has made it clear that he has no intentions of quitting the country for the sea until August.

“I have a gift for you, Miss Kenobi,” he declares, striding forward with a paper rolled in his hand. 

“A gift? May I ask for what occasion?” Rey asks warmly. “My birthday is in November, sir, and it is but June.”

“You may ask, and I will tell you: the occasion is I wanted to give this to you.” The commander smiles easily at her, and Rey returns it.

“Alright then, I accept.” She smiles behind her hand, and Commander Dameron beckons her over to the window. They’re in clear sight of the door which remains open, and Rey can hear Ben and Mr. Solo discussing something fifteen feet away. She has no concerns for propriety when she crosses the room to see what Dameron is spreading open on a tilted desk.

It’s a diagram of a ship of the line: _The Black Beauty,_ to be exact. Rey studies it in amazement, her hand reaching out tentatively to trace the ink.

“I know you wish to learn to sail,” Commander Dameron says by way of explanation. “And regretfully we cannot invite women onboard a military vessel. The country remains superstitious, even into this century. But, I thought maybe we could imagine.”

“Imagine?” Rey’s reduced to one word from his thoughtfulness. She had no idea he was even listening when she spoke about her dreams of the open sea before he left for his last voyage, months ago.

“Yes, I know you have an active imagination. I envy it, frankly. Sometimes at balls I see you slip into a hidden, secret world, and I wish nothing more than to join you.” He looks fairly pink by the end of his confession, and Rey smiles at him benevolently.

“Unlike myself, you are in the preferable position of not needing to attend those balls to find a future spouse,” Rey reminds him playfully. “You are under no obligation to suffer the boredom of polite society.”

“Aren’t I?” He murmurs. Rey blinks, and then examines the page. She looks at the complicated list of positions, roles, and the names of the various riggings, and then she peers around the library, imagining the placements of various masts.

“If I were to be on your ship, where would I be?” She asks, curiously, wishing to picture herself free on the open water.

“I see you on the Foremast, lassie.” Commander Dameron points above the awning of the window, tilting his head back and shading his eyes. His voice takes on a roughened quality, a playful rendition of a captain’s accent from up north. “I send my slightest sailors up there, and they report down to me on the conditions ahead. You need a good eye and an even better sense of balance.”

“And what would I have to do to get stationed here?” Rey taps her finger thoughtfully upon the map, near a gun port.

“I would not put you at a gun for all the tea in India, sunbeam,” Dameron laughs. “ _Black Beauty_ has 120 guns, and my men who are stationed at the guns sleep there all night in case they are required to attend to their duties. No, I would much rather have my keen-eyed first mate nearby.”

“First mate?” Rey asks, delightedly.

“Aye, no point wasting a sharp mind,” the commander affirms, winking at her. He has yet to drop the affectation in his voice, and Rey fights a giggle before responding.

“And where would you be?” Rey stares down at the map and then over the desk, envisioning the ship swaying under their feet. “There?” She points to what she imagines to be the captain’s perch, at the front of the majestic ship of the line. Rey feels the commander stand closer to her, squatting slightly to follow the line of her finger.

“No.” She hears him swallow – he is so, so unbearably close to her now. She can feel his leg brush against the side of her dress. His work roughened hands come to rest, one at the small of her waist, the other on her wrist, and he guides her hand down and over a few inches so she’s pointing at a new spot. “About there, actually.”

“Oh.” Rey does not have any other ready questions, for the first time in her life. She desperately wishes she had one, if only to maintain this current position. _But it is not proper,_ the civilized part of her brain argues. _And he does not feel that way for you. He would have said something._

 _No, keep him here,_ the louder, more wild part of her crows. _Maybe he needs encouragement._ Suddenly she knows what she wants to ask.

“So, I see the captain’s quarters here.” She taps on the map with her hand not currently tangled with the commander’s. “But I imagine it’s different for a first mate. Would I sleep up there, in the rigging?” Without pulling away from his loose grip, she points back up to where she imagines the Foremast to be, and his arm moves with hers.

Commander Dameron laughs, a dark and throaty sound, so close to her ear. She shivers, and she thanks God in heaven that he does not pull away to ask if she is cold. Rey is not cold. She is the opposite. She is an inferno.

“Aye, I suppose you would, Miss Kenobi.” He releases her hand, but leaves his other hand on her waist while he leans down to examine the main. Rey watches his finger trace the drawing of the belowdecks, and she shivers helplessly once more. “But I would not be sleeping in my quarters. No, I would be sleeping below the Foremast, on the deck, so if you fell, I could catch you.”

He straightens, and his face is a deep shade of red. Rey stares at him in amazement – this is different than the flirtations he directed at her at Crait. It does not feel like a splash of cool water, but rather a descent into depths she did not know existed. It feels entirely different, and she does not wish for the feeling to fade.

“Is that so?” She licks her bottom lip nervously, and her heart pounds something terrible when she sees the movement has caught his eye.

“Aye,” he murmurs, not dropping his adopted accent. “I’d never let you fall, Miss Kenobi.”

She believes him. But then Commander Dameron must hear someone approach, for he pulls away, and they are standing some feet apart, the commander seemingly engrossed in the map, when Ben walks into the room.

He looks back and forth between Rey and the commander, and she feels almost humiliated. What is it about this man that always catches her off her guard? He seems unbothered by their conversation now, and she cannot will her heart to maintain its normal, steady pace.

She feels her brother’s eyes upon her face, and she is beyond grateful when he says, “My mother is looking for you, Miss Kenobi. You will find her upstairs, in her rooms.”

Rey whispers another thank you to the commander for his gift, and he nods, not turning around.

“Commander Dameron, I need to speak with you,” Ben says coldly.

Something about his statement tells Rey that Ben is not happy with the commander. She cannot imagine why; any impropriety was encouraged by herself, and besides, Ben has no idea of what just happened. It will never happen again, though, she tells herself as she climbs the stairs. That was an anomaly, born of the hot summer air.

It meant nothing to Commander Dameron, even if it meant everything to her.

***

Rey stumbles across Commander Dameron while on a solitary walk three months before she celebrates her twentieth birthday. He looks as handsome as ever in his blue coat, and he strides across the field towards the bower Rey had just been examining.

“I thought you were with my brother, fishing,” she calls by way of greeting. Slightly improper, but they have been in each other’s acquaintance for almost two years now. He is a family friend, she tells herself, that is why she feels so comfortable with his presence. She steadfastly does not recall the day in the library, two months prior, where she had felt his warmth so close to her. Rey does not know how to explain her feelings for the gentleman, and that memory certainly does not clarify her position.

She does not how to explain the quickening of her heart while he is in her proximity, nor the sweatiness of her palms. Once, two weeks ago, she caught a glimpse of herself in a window in Madame Mothma’s parlor, after she had beat the commander - and other members of the party that she had not even really been able to focus on - twice in a row at whist, and had been absolutely dismayed at the color high on her cheeks, the wideness of her eyes. She does not know how to explain any of it.

Here he is, the top button of his shirt undone, his scarf untied and tucked into his pocket, and walking towards her in the privacy of the trees.

She does not know how to explain why this excites her.

“I had hoped to speak to you, Miss Kenobi,” he calls back. She smiles and walks toward him, not even bothering with the light traipsing step Leia had impressed upon her four years ago when she had come to live at Alderaan. Commander Dameron knows that she is unfinished; he has not seemed to care in the past.

“What about? Perhaps you wanted your money back? Because I must remind you, I earned it, and I intend to spend it on a number of frivolous, feminine objects.”

“Good.” They draw up short of each other by three feet, under the shade of her favorite tree. Dameron regards her fondly. “I am glad to hear the money is being used so appropriately. I approve vastly of you spending it in order to surround yourself with pretty things.”

He clears his throat and looks at the ground. Rey sees the color in his cheeks heighten, which is odd; Dameron does not often blush without intense provocation. Perhaps he is remembering that he speaks to the younger sister of his closest friend; a girl who is not even really a sister, but a charity case. Yes, that must be it. He is embarrassed to be caught even playfully showing regard for the county’s wild girl. Ben never told her what he scolded Dameron for two months ago, but the commander had acted more detached afterwards. She assumes he had been told to stop flirting with the Solo’s ward, the sad little lost girl.

“I actually came to bid you farewell in private, Miss Kenobi.” His hands fidget with the buttons at his sleeves, and he finally looks up. “My regiment leaves from the harbor in three days’ time, and I will accompany them at dawn tomorrow.”

“Oh yes, my brother has told me.” Rey does not like the idea of Commander Dameron leaving, but at least they are not at war. “Six months at sea, correct?”

“Yes.” He looks at her as if in utter pain, and she does not understand it.

“Is there anything I can do, to help ease the way of your journey?” She asks lightly. “Perhaps socks that need to be darned?”

That at least inspires a laugh from the man. “Socks?” He asks, smile lighting his features pleasantly.

“Yes, socks,” Rey nods. “Although I must be honest with you, I am miserable at mending things. Mrs. Solo does not even let me fix the rags we use to clean.”

“ _Tsk_ , _tsk_. Whatever shall we do with you.” Rey breathes a sigh of relief as Poe teases her. This is familiar ground.

“They shall have to send me to the nunnery,” she says solemnly. “Perhaps the ladies there can show me the error of my wanton, unaccomplished ways.”

“Surely the nunnery is not for you,” Poe says, almost sharply.

“No, no,” Rey smiles at him, trying to keep this on light footing. “Surely not. They would return me within the fortnight, after discovering how much I talk.”

He laughs loud and clear at that, and it stirs something to life inside her. _I want to make him laugh like this, always,_ she realizes. The thought brings a heat to the back of her neck, and she feels it crawling over her ears. She prays he does not notice.

He is a military man; of course he does. But he is also a gentleman, so he does not comment.

“As I was saying,” he restarts, hands still moving nervously “I leave tomorrow. And, I will be gone for six months.”

“And you will defend our country, like a knight of old.” Rey smiles at him, allowing her teeth to show – exactly the opposite of how ladies are meant to smile.

“Indeed – Sir Poe Dameron, at your service, my queen.” He sweeps a low bow, the dark curls atop his head almost brushing the ground.

“A wonderful knight you would make,” she laughs, extending her hand towards him. Her breath catches when he takes it, and kisses the air above her fingers. He releases her quickly, and she drops the hand at her side, feeling the phantom of his near-kiss still lingering. “But I would make a terrible queen.”

“As is often the case, my sunbeam, we disagree.” Poe stares at her steadily, and she stares boldly back. There is something sparking in the air between them, suddenly, something she’s only felt snatches of, glimpses of a fire that could burn between them, if given the chance. She’s felt it with his elbow brushing hers while they take a turn of the grounds; she’s felt it with his hand soft at her waist while he fills his spot on her dance card; she’s felt it while he hovers at her side in the drawing room while they bicker over geography and history; she felt it most powerfully in the library, his hand at her waist, the two of them imagining life aboard _The Black Beauty._

In the past, she has rarely imagined that he felt it too. Now, she is convinced that he just might.

“If you truly are a knight, then you need a token from your lady.” Rey finds herself drawn towards the man, pulled towards him like the tide pulls at one’s feet upon the shoreline.

“A token?” The commander seems caught by the same force, drawn towards her, his own body moving to match her own. They are standing too close to be considered decent, proper, but they are alone, and Rey does not care. This man leaves _tomorrow,_ and the thought of him out in the world with no way to remember her is simply intolerable.

“Yes, a token.” Rey swallows, her bravery quickly fading when she realizes there is nothing but an inch of space between them, the lapel of his greatcoat brushing against her shoulder. One small move from either would bring them all the closer, and her mouth tingles at the thought of his stubble brushing against it. Poe Dameron’s eyes are magnetic, and she cannot look away. She does not to wish to look away. “A favor, if you will. Ladies gave them to knights in the spirit of protecting them on journeys. The knight would return the favor upon the end of his successful quest. He would wear it for the duration of his journey, and the lady knew that he would have a reason to return to her, so he could give back her token.”

“I think you will find that I have reason enough to return to Alderaan already.” The Commander’s words are teasing but his voice is not. Rey closes her eyes briefly against the warm air that accompanies his words, his breath that blows across her own mouth.

“One could hope, but it is a fool’s job to hope. No. I want you to have a reason to return to me.” Rey’s cheeks burn at her boldness; but she fought for too long to have these instincts eliminated by four-odd years of polite society.

“What would you offer to a man like me?” Commander Dameron sounds almost pleading now. “What would you, an angel, give to a lowly soldier?”

“Whatever you choose,” Rey says simply. “I find that I no longer take joy in teasing you. I shall deny you nothing. Take what you will; take what you must to encourage your return.” She closes her eyes, and she lifts her chin, half in defiance, half in hope for his lips upon her own. When she does not feel them, her heart pounds from the sting of rejection, the most cruel of wasps.

Then she feels his fingers in her braid. She opens her eyes and sees his own burning into hers. Every so often they drift down to her lips, and she feels a sharp intake of breath from the man when he realizes that she’s caught him staring at her mouth.

Commander Dameron tugs lightly, and she feels something slide along her shoulder. He holds up his prize for her examination: the green ribbon that she often weaves through her hair each morning.

“I claim this as my token,” he whispers. Rey is hopeless to his power, her breath coming quicker and quicker after he raises the ribbon to his lush, full mouth and kisses it reverently. He tucks it away in the front of his coat. “I will keep it next to my heart every moment we are apart. And I look forward to the day I can return it, and myself, to you.”

“Very good then,” Rey murmurs. “A reason for you to come back.”

“My sunbeam.” The Commander looks agonized. “You cannot be mistaken. I must tell you that I—”

“Rey?” Leia’s voice crosses the meadow. “Rey, darling, supper is almost ready! If you see Commander Dameron, invite him inside.”

“Yes, Mrs. Solo!” Rey turns to call over her shoulder.

The spell between Commander Dameron and herself appears to be broken, and she curses their luck. She also thanks the stars that they were interrupted. The heat that had flared in her stomach did not promise to lend itself to wise decisions. She does not stop to feel guilty about how she imagined the way the bark of her favorite tree would have felt underneath her shoulder blades, had she or the commander been any bolder in their actions today, had he pressed her against the sturdy trunk like she wanted, and plundered her mouth the way she assumes he would.

Instead, she takes the arm offered to her by Commander Dameron, and they walk slowly, without speaking, towards the house. For the first time in their friendship, they do not banter, or bicker, or argue. She looks up at him nervously every so often, and sometimes she catches him looking back. She swears she sees him catch his tongue between his teeth at one point.

How Rey wishes one of them would have been bolder. But, six months is not that long a time, she tells herself. And it will be plenty of time for her to untangle the exact nature of her feelings for this impossible, strange, most wonderful man.

***

Rey does not expect to receive letters on this voyage; Commander Dameron will be out on open water for most it, as his ship joins with several others to explore rumors of pirate activity on trading routes. There is talk of a great and evil company of pirates, who call themselves “The First Order”, and the double line, which Commander Dameron’s ship is part of, has already playfully deemed themselves “The Resistance.”

So, it comes as a great shock two days before Michaelmas when a letter arrives for her. It was postmarked three weeks after the commander’s departure, and Rey tucks it close to her heart before placing it next to her bedside table. Her eyes drift shut, and she strokes the envelope with her thumb, imagining she can feel the weight of sea salt upon the parchment, and the weight of the calloused hand that wrote the inscription on the outside.

Rey waits as long as she can to open it; she knows it will be the last she hears of Dameron until his return in February. So, she waits for about an hour before the anticipation is too much. She excuses herself from a conversation with Ben, and walks back to her room.

Her hands shake as she opens the envelope, and she pulls out the letter. There is another object included, but she chooses not to look until she has read his words.

_My Sunbeam,_

_I have always considered myself a sailor, a loyal servant to the King and his Navy who would be content to wander the seven seas until the end of time itself. I find that I now hope for something more._

_I miss the green of England, and I miss the grounds of Yavin and Alderaan. I believe I even miss the balls, as these early days of my voyage drag on, and the only dancing I see is the disordered jigs of my crew after dinner._

_While the Black Beauty remains ever dear to my heart, I found myself staring at the Foremast today. It does not look quite so fine without an attentive first mate perched in the rigging like a glorious bird of paradise, come down to bless the rest of the ship with her singing._

_I regret that this is the last letter you will receive from me until my return in the late winter. I humbly beseech you to not forget me. The purpose of this letter is entirely selfish. I often find my hand drifting to the token you were so kind to bestow upon me; the other men tease me for holding it in my hand at the end of the day, but I find I can focus better on the light of the stars when I imagine the brightest light in the galaxy, the light of my sunbeam. But, I regret that I left you nothing to remember me by; no token to call to mind the happy hours I spent in your company, for I like to imagine they were happy for you as well._

_Enclosed with this letter you will find something to replace what you generously gave me. I confess, it brings me no small pleasure to imagine you wearing it. I confess that thought alone will be what sustains me these six months. That, and the memory of your smile._

_I remain, as ever,_

_Yours, truly,_

_Poe, your knight_

Rey stares, shocked at the letter. _He cannot possibly mean –_

He signed the letter with his first name only. He called her his sunbeam – complimented her over and over again, praised her even – Rey does not know what to make of the letter.

Commander Dameron has always been so direct, so forthcoming with his opinions and his moods, that she had always assumed his candor would have lent itself to speaking his mind on his romantic intentions.

That is why she was so convinced she was alone in her regard for him. Faced with this letter, though –

Six months is an unbearable eternity. Rey writes a response before she remembers that it will never reach him, not until he arrives at port in early February. She stares at her letter, with its multiple errors, the frequently crossed out terms – how many ways can she say “I do not wish to be parted from you ever again,” before it stops making sense – and she realizes that she does not want him to read of her feelings for him. She wants to tell him in person. So, Rey folds up her stilted, nervous response, and tucks it away into the box with her other letters from Poe.

She reads through his newest letter one more time, hand drifting to cover her mouth with her fingertips as she smiles, and smiles wider. She remembers at the end that there is something waiting for her in the envelope.

Rey digs in eagerly, and her fingers brush up against cool silk. She pulls out a blue ribbon – the same exact shade as a Naval officer’s coat. She does not even think before she ties it into her hair, and she spends a long time giggling to herself and studying the appearance of it, this gift from Poe, tangled in her hair.  

And when she wears it every day for five months, no one comments.

***

On a late winter day, a fortnight before Commander Dameron’s expected return, Rey arrives late to breakfast.

She is immediately concerned by the trio of ashen faces at the table. Ben holds a letter in his large hand, and she can see that the paper is being crushed in his grip.

“What is the matter?” She asks, not moving to sit. “Mr. Solo?” Han does not respond, just wipes a hand over his face. He looks at his wife imploringly.

“Have a seat, dear,” Mrs. Solo says, comfort in her voice despite the personal grief in her eyes. “You do not wish to stand when we tell you –” For the first time in four years, she sees Leia cry.

“What happened?” Rey whispers, still not sitting. “Ben, please, tell me.”

Ben stands and walks around the table. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again. He does this twice.

“Rey –” He swallows, the line of his throat working. She is shocked to see tears in his own expressive, brown eyes. “I regret to be the one to inform you of this, but my parents are too grieved. I wish that you will not hate me after –”

“After what?” Rey says sharply. “What is going on?” Impatient, she snatches the letter from Ben’s hand and reads it for herself, ignoring his attempt to take the paper back.

_Mr. Benjamin Solo,_

_I am writing to keep you apprised of the pirate activity plaguing our fleet._

_I write today with particularly upsetting news. On the last day of the year 18—, a fleet was attacked by a set of First Order gunships. One ship of the line fought particularly bravely, even as its sister ships sank. They were able to destroy the fleet, but at great personal cost. Its own condition did not allow it to continue to sail. The smallest ship in the line, a schooner that was available for supply runs, made its way back to England, alone. They report that the captain and its crew of that final brave ship, The Black Beauty, are considered lost at sea._

_I know its captain, Commander Poe Dameron, was a personal friend to you and your family, and I extend my deepest regrets for your loss. I am about to write a letter of condolence to his father, another man whom I respect greatly._

_While a fleet was destroyed, the threat of the First Order looms over us still. I pray to God and all the pagan pantheon that we shall be rid of those cruel beasts before the end of the year._

_God Save the King,_

_Admiral G. Ackbar_

Rey reads it once through, and then again. She reads it four times, but after the first, she stops at Poe’s name before looping back to the start.

“Oh,” she says thoughtfully. Rey hands the letter back to Ben, and finally goes to sit at the table.

Rey pulls the plate of muffins towards her, and butters a piece aimlessly. She looks up and sees the rest of the family staring at her in shock. Rey smiles briefly, and goes back to her toast.

_Commander Poe Dameron … lost at sea._

“Oh.” Rey says, again, setting her muffin down. “Excuse me, I think I might,” she stands from the table, and Ben steps forward, having never sat back down. “Pardon me,” she says weakly, before the ground comes crashing up to meet her, Ben shouting as he dives to catch her.

Rey wakes in her room, with Han sitting at the side of her bed.

“Welcome back, child,” he says quietly.

“Is it true?” She whispers. “Or was it a dream?”

“No, sweetheart.” Han does not smile, and his eyes don’t hide one, either. He has never looked so sad. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

Rey bursts into tears, finally, and Han’s hands hover awkwardly near her shoulder before he pulls her into his arms, sitting next to her on the bed fully. Rey clings to her father and weeps, weeps for the future she’ll never have, the future denied to Poe Dameron, who lies at the bottom of the ocean, her token still in his pocket.

***

She does not leave her room after the news reaches them. She turns away food, and does not emerge for days, no matter how much Leia begs, Han cajoles, or Ben looms.

He’s looming now, waiting for her to speak. Her brother stands at the foot of her bed while she curls up in the window seat, not even a blanket pulled around her shoulders to block the chill. Rey knows she looks frightful, but she cannot bring herself to care.

She realizes that Ben has asked her a question.

“Sorry, dear brother. I did not hear you.” Her voice cracks, her throat dry even as her eyes are wet. She turns her head with great effort to look at him.

“I said, what exactly was the nature of your relationship to Commander Dameron?” Ben asks her, face hardened against his own callousness. Rey can tell it costs him greatly to pose the question, which is why she limits her response to incredulity and not rage.

“I beg your pardon?” Her finger pauses in its tracing of the cold glass. Behind it, the trees howl and rain pours through the miserable February night. How fitting.

“What _exactly_ was he to you? How close had you become?”

Anger does flicker in her now. “Are you asking if I – if I lay with him? Is that what you’re asking? How could you ask me that, when you are the only person on this miserable planet who knows what I have suffered? The only person who knows the source of those abominable rumors of my virtue? You are the only person I have trusted with the secrets of my past, and for you to suggest that I would –”

“Stop! No, that is not what I meant at all. I wouldn’t do you the dishonor, Rey. I know your virtue to be intact, I only ask after the status of your heart.”

She shifts despondently in her perch and wipes at the fresh wave of tears. “Then what did you mean?”

Ben sighs heavily. “Did he – did he make you an offer, sister?”

“What?” Rey wrinkles her nose. “No, of course not. Why would he make me an offer?”

“You’ve received offers in the past, Rey, it’s not so wild an idea.”

“It is to think that Commander Dameron would have wanted me. And now it matters not. I shall never marry,” Rey whispers, the tears now freely streaming from her eyes. “Never.” The only sound that fills the room is the rain lashing the window, drumming on the roof of the grand house. The only sound beside the rain is the sound of Rey’s heart breaking all over again, but she does not think her brother can hear that.

“Did the commander know?” Ben asks tiredly into the quiet. “Rey, did Poe know?”

It is the sound of his Christian name that startles her from her misery. “Know what?” She asks bleakly.

Ben regards her in silence for nearly a minute before saying, “Of your … Never mind. I will leave you now to your privacy.”

Rey weeps for an hour before washing her face and returning to her seat in the window. She does not sleep, she merely watches the sky, the same traitorous, wretched sky her commander died under. She is so exhausted she does not question the possessiveness of the term.

It has been four full days since she heard of the commander’s death, and when a servant brings her breakfast in the morning, she smiles and thanks them. After they leave, she stands and throws the contents of the tray in the chamber pot, not caring that she’s wasting food, not even after half a lifetime of starvation.

Nothing matters. Not anymore.

***

She’s nearing the end of the fifth day, now, and she can still feel the fissures of her heart. Han had come to her this afternoon and cried while begging her to eat. For his sake, she managed a crust of bread and a bite of cheese, and he had kissed her forehead before leaving her to mourn.

Rey has been dozing fitfully all day; her body cannot last without sleep, she knows, but it is a cruel agony to wake each time and have to remember afresh that this is a world without Commander Poe Dameron. She lets her imagination wander, and she imagines how the story might have gone had she been allowed on the ship, the map of which she has tucked safely under her bed, with her letters from her lost sailor.

In her imagination, Rey would have killed any pirate that tried to come near him, and when the commander was fighting off three at once with his own sword flashing in the bright, southern sun, he would shout at her to take command of the ship. They would be unstoppable. And he would still be here. And at the very least, when he died, she would have perished as well. This slow, agonizing torment is less preferable than a quick death at sea, she thinks, run through on a sword, or catching a bullet.

She startles when she realizes how powerfully she wishes that she had died next to him. Rey kneels immediately and begs forgiveness, but she knows God can see right through her penitence. Just because she is sorry for feeling this way does not mean she suddenly no longer feels it.

Rey climbs back into her seat halfway, and then she weeps fully once more as she realizes how exhausted the simple movement has made her. _Have I really become a wraith,_ she wonders, bitterly. _Reduced to this ghost of a person by the death of a man who thought nothing of me? Who I was nothing to?_

Rey is startled from her angered self-examination by a shout from downstairs. She raises her eyes to the window and is startled to see a lone horse galloping up the drive. Its rider is cloaked against the storm, but she can hear the servants running in the front hall to prepare for his arrival. The mysterious rider dismounts, tossing the reins to a servant who braved the cold, and sweeps up the stairs. This Rey startles from her hypnosis – the break in the pattern seems to have knocked the wind out of her – and she moves to grab her dressing gown.

She hears a commotion from Han and Leia’s room, and she stumbles while she tries to tie her gown about her waist. She sees that her fingers are thinner than they have been since her arrival at Alderaan, and the ties of her gown wrap around her more than they ever did.

Rey heaves a sigh and mutters, to herself, “If we survive the night and this is not some black heart come to murder us in our beds, I shall never throw food away again, I promise.”

Han Solo is already running down the stairs when she emerges from her room. Leia looks wild-eyed, raising a candlestick and following her husband with her eyes.

“Go back to bed, child,” Leia says the second she sees Rey.

“I have spent long enough in bed, Mama,” she responds. Both women are so shocked by the endearment that Leia does not stop Rey from descending the stairs.

“Get Mister Solo!” A servant calls into the house. “Both of them!”

“You go wake my son up,” Han grumbles, yanking on his housecoat. “I’m already here, and I’m not going back up those stairs until I know what’s going on.”

Rey stands to the side as a servant sprints past her, up to Ben’s room. A servant is at the door, conversing with the man as his horse is tended to outside.

“And who may I say is visiting us at this late hour?” Han’s polite tone is beyond forced, crossing into dangerous territory. Rey continues to walk down the stairs, her legs weak from her abuse of her body the last five days.

“A good friend, who has come a long way to see you.” Rey stumbles over a step. She must be imagining that the tenor of this voice is familiar. She knows this voice. It haunts her dreams.

The man walks all the way in, handing his dripping cloak to a servant, standing tall and proud while the doors slam shut behind him.

Rey’s reached the bottom of the stairs by now, and she cannot contain the shriek of terror that emerges from her throat at the sight of the rider.

Commander Poe Dameron stands in their front hall, hair dripping with rainwater, plastered to his head. His eyes are shadowed by large circles, bruise-like in their darkness, and he bears a large cut near his temple.

But he is alive – he is – he’s staring at Rey, who’s collapsed onto the floor, shaking.

“Rey!” Ben’s behind her, his hand at her elbow. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “But Ben,” she tugs at his hand, “P-P—” Rey stares up wildly at her brother, daring him to tell her that she is hallucinating, that she is dreaming. Ben gently pulls her to her feet and guides her to the chair in the front hall.

“I see him too, dear one,” Ben straightens up and regards Dameron in open shock. He strides forward and claps him on the shoulder. “Are you really that bad at dying? How did you bargain your way out of Davy Jones’s locker?”

Commander Dameron laughs, a short angry sound. “We can talk about that later – first,” he turns to Han. “Sir, you were absolutely right about Snoke. I need to tell you, now.”

Her guardian nods, and gestures to his study. “Let’s talk, son.” He walks into the room, and Ben follows him after smiling at Rey, tightly. Commander Dameron is the last to enter, and he nods up the stairs at Leia.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for banging on your door in the middle of the night, in such a state, disturbing your household.”

“Considering that we thought you were dead an hour ago, I am certain we will find a way to forgive you, Commander.” Leia smiles down at him, and then starts to walk towards the stairs, her own dressing gown tied securely around her body.

Rey knows her own shift shows, knows her dressing gown hangs almost provocatively off one shoulder. She knows her clothing sits worse on her figure than it did a week ago, and she knows her hair is loose and about her shoulders, like a child, or worse, like a wife.

Commander Dameron looks at her last, and she knows he sees everything, sees her in this pathetic state. Still, he bows before following Ben into Mr. Solo’s private room.

“Miss Kenobi.” He straightens up, and examines her face intensely. He looks grieved, and Rey can only imagine it’s pity at her current state. Commander Dameron seems as though he wishes to say more, but he turns on his heel, and soon the door is closed between them.

Leia is next to her on the seat, suddenly, and she pulls Rey in close to her chest. When she hears a deep, rattling breath, she realizes that is herself, and she realizes she does not know for how long she has been crying. The part of her that still possesses dignity hopes that it was after Commander Dameron closed the door.

Leia comforts her quietly for half an hour before Rey calms. She leaves to pour some wine, “because we both need it,” and Rey is sitting in the front hall by herself when the gentlemen reappear.

“I shall go at once,” Ben says grimly over his shoulder. He heads to the stairs, ostensibly to change into more appropriate clothes, and he ducks Rey under the chin before he ascends.

Commander Dameron and Rey are now the only two in the front hall; Han had stayed in his study, and the door is shut.

“Commander Dameron,” Rey says weakly, rising from the front seat. _May I have a word?_ The question doesn’t make it past her lips, she’s too busy consuming him with her eyes. He’s here. He’s really here, alive, in one piece. She takes an awkward step towards him before she remembers herself.

“Miss Kenobi,” Dameron licks his lips and folds his hands behind his back, both movements distracting her. “I do sincerely apologize for knocking you out of bed at this late hour.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she whispers, refusing to be embarrassed by an untoward implication of the words. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then I wish you better luck in the early hours of the morning.”  His eyes flicker to her state of undress, and Rey is still so shocked at his appearance, she makes no move to cover herself more modestly. Commander Dameron opens his mouth to say more, his exhausted eyes darkening in the candlelight, and she leans into it, like a plant into a sun, when –

The study door opens, and Mr. Solo appears. He smiles at Rey warmly, and then looks at Commander Dameron with apprehension. “You wished to speak with me further, Commander?”

“Yes, Mr. Solo.” The Commander gathers his leather gloves in one hand, and he slide them between the fingers of his other hand. Rey is also distracted by that movement.

“Commander Dameron –”

“I have an urgent matter to discuss with your guardian, Miss Kenobi,” Dameron informs her kindly, but with a tone of finality. “I entreat you to return to your bed. Perhaps if I am still here when the sun rises, I shall see you at breakfast, or about the grounds.” He quirks an eyebrow at the stairs.

Rey knows a dismissal when she sees one; she has a lifetime of experience in them. Part of her rises in rebellion, and she briefly entertains the notion of dropping herself childishly on the last step, putting her chin in her hands, and sticking her tongue out at the handsome, _alive,_ officer.

But, the rejection stings too hard. She remembers Poe Dameron standing close, too close, in the bower not five hundred yards from the kitchen door, taking his token and her heart with him when he left six months ago. Clearly he does not remember any of that.

Whatever composure she had mustered with Leia while he was meeting with Ben and Han crumples, and her face twists from it. Mortified, she covers her mouth with her hand and turns to fly up the stairs.

“Miss Kenobi—” She ignores him, but she hears Han talk to him from the safety of the landing.

“Let the child sleep, Commander. She has been through enough.”

She hears a murmured assent: “That is physically apparent: has the lady been ill?” And then there is the sound of heavy boots striking carpet. The door closes, after which there is not even a hint of the men’s conversation; most likely, Commander Dameron is catching Mr. Solo’s ear on some military idea. Most likely, the men will depart at sunrise, and it will be another six months before she catches a glimpse of the dashing officer who has stolen her affection.

Rey is a _child,_ Han is right. She has no idea where the power of her feelings came from, but they have crept up on her, like a predator with prey, for months now. After thinking the man dead, only to have him swoop in here after midnight like some Gothic hero of a novel – it’s undeniable.

She loves Commander Dameron, and it does not matter one bit, not when he thinks her a child. Not when he can so easily leave her behind.  

***

Rey does not emerge for breakfast the next morning, but Leia does come to help her dress at nine o’clock.

“If you can run down the stairs to greet dead men, you can get dressed,” Leia reassures her. Rey does not have an argument for that, and she lets Leia dress her in a dark blue, pretty day dress.

She combs out her hair for Rey, and she’s reminded of her first night at Alderaan, when Leia helped her get ready for bed in her new room, in her new life. Leia had combed her hair then too, and Rey had sobbed; no one had ever combed her hair before, and it was overwhelming to feel so cared for. She was even more surprised when Leia had held her, and then slept next to her in her bed all night, her arms around her as if she were something precious, a child that deserved love.

Rey blinks back tears at the memory now, and she meets Leia’s eyes in the mirror. Her own eyes are misty as her fingers weave a French braid. Leia takes the ribbon which has not left Rey’s hair for five months, and weaves it through the end of the hairstyle.

“There.” She rests her hands on Rey’s shoulders. “If only we could cover up the circles under your eyes, the commander could not even imagine that you had spent the last week suffering.”

“The commander is still here?” Rey asks, her curiosity rising despite her exhaustion. The simple act of dressing and waiting for Leia to braid her hair has drained her limited energy.

“Yes, and I believe he wishes to speak with you.” Leia pulls out a biscuit from her pocket and hands it to Rey. “Eat, you’ll need your strength if you’re not to faint in front of him. Although, I do admit there are worse things than fainting into the arms of a handsome officer.”

Rey takes a bite and does not respond. Leia smiles at her warmly again, and pinches her cheek softly. “Don’t look so sad, my dear. He does not ask to speak to you from a desire to yell or punish you. He is a good man.”

Rey nods, assuming that he means to bid her farewell before leaving again. She cannot bear saying goodbye again, and she already knows that when his mouth forms the words she’s so afraid of, she will probably run from the room, and potentially out of the house itself.

Somehow, she finishes the food Leia had brought her, and she takes her by the arm while they walk down the stairs. Rey leans heavily on the banister, and quickly looks around the front entrance. There is no sign of Ben, who left early this morning on urgent business, or Han, whose study door is once again closed firmly. Commander Dameron is not to be seen either, and when Leia steers her towards the sunroom, Rey balks.

“No, I cannot speak to him alone, I cannot bear for him to say goodbye,” she begs Leia. “Please, ma’am.”

“I thought you were calling me mama, now,” Leia smiles at her, and even in her terror, the thought that Leia wants her as a daughter warms her heart.

“Yes, mama, please don’t make me do this.”

“Go, child,” Leia grabs her shoulders and spins her, stronger than Rey although the young woman is five inches taller. She puts a small hand between her shoulder blades and gives her a hearty push. “We will not interrupt you two. Listen to the gentleman.”

The door closes behind Rey, and she looks up, legs aquiver and threatening to betray her.

Commander Dameron stands, hands folded behind his back, coat clearly pressed and dried since his journey through the rain last night. He is just as handsome as ever – no, more handsome. Rey recalls his last letter, and her face flushes. How had she misinterpreted that? How had she read it so poorly?

 “Are you feeling well, sir?” Rey asks, for something to say.

“Quite well, I thank you.” Commander Dameron shifts on his feet awkwardly. “But I should be asking how you feel, after last night.”

Yes, her shameful performance. Rey nods and walks further into the room, her hands clasped together. “I apologize for my behavior last night. It was improper for me to rise from bed.”

“Make no apology, madam, merely listen to and accept my regrets that you were not resting when I arrived in such a state.”

Rey crosses the room, past Dameron, and stands in her favorite window. She looks at him from the new vantage point, and sure enough, he is beautiful from this angle as well.

“I do not rest these days, Commander.” Rey closes her eyes and turns away from him, terror coursing through her when she imagines what must be on her face, what secrets she must be revealing.

“What do you mean, Miss Kenobi?” Commander Dameron, thankfully, stays put. From the sound of it, he’s taken a seat.

“I have not had rest since the letter bearing news of your vessel arrived, almost a week ago.” Rey admits. “I have not been able to sleep for grief.”

“Miss Kenobi, last night I assumed you had taken quite ill, which inspired such a change in your appearance. Did you – did you look so poorly because you grieved the loss of _me_?” The commander sounds thunderstruck.

“Of course I did!” She cries. “I have not slept, I have not eaten since we heard of your ship being attacked,” she confesses bitterly, staring out the window. “My every waking thought has been of you, imagining such horrible things, wishing only to hear your voice tease me one more time. Commander Dameron, it was the acutest misery to wait for news these last six months, and when they said you were dead, I – I –” Rey is overcome by the remembrance of her grief and the intensity of her relief, and she weeps suddenly, into her hands. “I wished to be dead beside you.”

“You cannot say such things, my sunbeam,” Commander Dameron approaches her from the back, she can sense it, but she holds a hand up, desperate to compose herself.

“I know you mean to take leave of Alderaan shortly, with Mr. Solo,” Rey bites back a sob, her voice cracking on the name of their house. “That is what you wished to discuss last night in the study, I know. And I shall be left behind, waiting as always, for news of you. I cannot bear it, Commander Dameron. I cannot bear not knowing where you are in the world, if you are safe. It nearly killed me to think you dead; I cannot do it again.” She folds her arm stubbornly across her middle, and tucks her chin into her collarbone. It was a stance she’d learned as a child; a stance that protected her from a blow. She prays it will work for pain of the spirit as well as the body.

“I am an officer in His Royal Majesty’s Navy, Miss Kenobi. This is my lot in life.” Dameron’s voice is harsh with something unknowable.

“It is not a pleasant lot, then,” Rey scoffs, her shoulders stiff. “It is uncertainty, and it is pain; and it is a pain that extends into my very soul.”

There is a brief pause, and then Commander Dameron says, quite softly: “Could you never be convinced, then, to take a Naval Officer for your husband?”

“I beg your pardon?” Rey spins to face Commander Dameron, only to find him waiting on bended knee, anxiety upon his face. “Please sir, do stand.”

“I cannot,” Commander Dameron shakes his head. “Not until I receive an answer. Please, I beg you, end my agony, for I have felt it most acutely every day these last two and a half years. My every breath, my every thought has been of you, for you. Please, Miss Kenobi, you cannot mistake me, not this time. I wish to marry you, if you will have me. I spoke to Mr. Solo last night to secure his blessing and his permission to ask this of you.”

“And what did my guardian say?” Rey asks curiously.

Dameron gestures to his current position. “Well, he did not run me through with his sword, although I suspected he may have wanted to. No, he said I had his blessing, but the only permission I needed was yours.”

Rey laughs at Han’s gruffly progressive ways, but she sobers quickly. “I cannot offer you anything,’ she reminds Dameron. “My circumstances are miserable, which you know. I have nothing: no fortune, no family.”

“What do I care of your circumstances?” Commander Dameron looks completely dumbfounded. “I am quite secure in my own fortune; I do not need another. No – I wish to marry for love, as my parents did. I wish to have a wife who is my equal in humor and temper, who is unafraid to challenge me, who knows her own mind, and who possesses an abundance of spirit. You say you have nothing, but you have so many incredible qualities. I beg you to set a time and date in the future where I may extol each one individually, for it will most certainly take several hours.”

“You wish to marry for love?” Rey ignores the suggested compliments, and focuses on that detail. She wrinkles her nose, not fully understanding. “Does that – but that means –”

“I love you,” He answers, understanding her confusion. “I love you, most passionately. I have for years – I have thought of no other woman but you, I have only sought, craved, _required_ your company since that first night at Crait Manor. My heart beats for you,” he presses his hand over his chest and pushes, hard. “My very blood sings for you. I look at the night sky, and you are the only star present. Miss Kenobi – Rey – my only hope for a happy future is one with you by my side. Please, end my suffering either way. Deny me, and I will hide away the sentiments that prove distasteful to you, and I shall remain merely a moon caught in your orbit, forever your quiet slave. But accept me, and make me the happiest man who walks this earth. Accept me and end my days as a bachelor.”

Rey’s heart swells, almost to the point of pain. “I must apologize then.” Dameron looks struck by disappointment, sadness evident in his handsome face. “I must apologize to the _bachelor_ Commander Dameron, for his days are numbered. His time on this earth is at an end, if you are serious in this proposal.”

“Do you – do you accept me? Truly?” Rey extends her hand as gracefully as possible, and Dameron takes it, his own hands shaking. He presses a kiss into each of her knuckles, and she sighs happily.

“I accept if you get off your knees, for pity’s sake. You’re making mine hurt from sympathy.” Dameron stands, laughing, tears in his sunny brown eyes.

“Can you – will you humor me? Will you say it once more, fully, so I know this is not another cruel dream?”

“I accept, Commander Dameron. I will marry you.” Rey beams at him, her own cheeks hurting from happiness, the evidence of that happiness threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Poe,” he whispers. “I have dreamed of my name on your lips since your guardian first introduced us two and a half years ago. It was the thought of your voice that sustained me after they pulled me from the water. Please, in God’s name, call me Poe.”

“Poe,” Rey says. “Poe, Poe, Poe, _Poe.”_

“I should think I died and entered Heaven, were I not such a wicked man,” The commander – _Poe_ \-- breathes.

“Shall I request a bit more wickedness, then?” Rey asks archly, lifting her shaking hand to touch his sideburns. “Would it be wicked of me to ask my betrothed for a kiss?”

“Not so wicked that I could deny you,” Poe shakes his head wonderingly, one hand still clasped around hers, the other lifting to align with the one she has tangled in his hair. “My precious sunbeam, I cannot deny you anything.”

“Well then,” Rey whispers, the same magnetic pull that blossomed between them that day in the meadow months ago, suddenly alive again and almost throbbing in the air around them.

“Yes. Well then,” Poe leans forward, and his mouth presses against her gently, so gently, Rey fears she may fall apart. The kiss is soft, tender: nothing like the kisses described in the novels her maids leave lying around, nothing like the kisses she’s spotted between couples at parties in darkened corners, nothing like she’d expected of the kisses of the rakishly charming Naval officer.

This kiss feels like a new beginning, like hope, like coming home.

They break apart, and Rey remembers.

“I love you, Poe,” she whispers into his jaw. His hands come to rest on her waist, and he presses down firmly, holding her as tightly as he dares, a low sound reverberating in his throat. “I believe I’ve been in love with you since the ball at Takodana; I’ve just been too stubborn to admit it.”

Poe kisses her hair, and he whispers, “You are giving me everything I need to die a happy man, Rey.”

“I’d rather you not die at all,” Rey reminds him, placing her hands on his broad shoulders. “In fact, I expressly forbid it.”

“Who am I to disobey such an order, from such a formidable goddess.”

Someone bangs loudly on the parlor door, then, and they separate reluctantly, Rey smoothing her hair and dress, and Poe adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“You may enter,” Rey calls.

“Are you sure?” Leia shouts back. “Do you need a minute? I can give you a minute.”

“Please, enter, Mrs. Solo,” Poe laughs.

The door bursts open to reveal Mr. Solo, Mrs. Solo, and Ben, who clearly has returned from his errand.

“It’s about time!” Ben roars happily. Rey covers her mouth with her free hand while she both laughs and cries in acknowledgment. Her other hand is clasped in the commander’s – in her fiancée’s – and she has no intention of ever removing it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that is left is a very brief epilogue (but then I have some questions for y'all about if you want more in this universe. Because there are many more pages written. Oops.)


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tiny chapter, but leads to important questions in the end notes

Commander Dameron takes a wife in the sixth month of the year 18—, at the parish abutting his family’s estate. They marry after a four month engagement, and it is said that the commander cried the moment his bride entered the church, and did not stop crying until ten minutes after he had safely fitted the silver ring left to him by his late mother upon his bride’s finger.

If you ask Mrs. Leia Organa Solo, the ceremony was a little smaller than it could have been; she was found at the after-party drily commenting to her tipsy son – who was trying to catch the eye of Miss Lintra, the long-time object of his affection – that she would have preferred to have a more royal affair for her daughter, who she wishes would be viewed as the princess she knows her to be. If you would have turned and asked Mr. Han Solo what he thought of Mrs. Solo’s statement, you would have found him asleep, his grey hair absentmindedly stroked by his still-doting wife as he dozed upon their shared chaise.

And so Rey Kenobi becomes Rey Dameron, and rumors quickly spread that there has never been a more beautiful bride, nor a more happy wife. She marries a kind, good man, who adores her passion and her intelligence, who encourages her in all pursuits, and who only ever lifts a hand to help others.

Shortly after the happy occasion of their wedding, the commander retired from military service, returning to Yavin to be with his bride and to take care of his lands. His father returned to Spain, to catch the warm air at their family's estate in the southern country, and Commander Dameron became captain of an entirely different enterprise; a household. 

They create a marriage built on mutual trust and respect, and all those who visit the estate of Yavin enjoy in the riches allowed for by Commander Dameron’s remarkable wisdom, his kindness to his tenants, and his generosity of spirit; they also enjoy the warm hospitality found at his ancestral home, provided by his high-spirited, sweet wife, who makes sure no orphan goes hungry, no poorhouse goes unfunded, no visitor ever goes ignored.

If you were to find a happier estate, or a happier couple, you would have to travel for a long time, to a place far, far away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends this part of the tale!
> 
> If you'd like to see more in this universe, I'm happy to create a series on here! A lot of it is already written and could be up as early as later today. Tell me which you'd prefer to see first:  
> 1\. A series of Poe POV from certain key scenes in this part (Titled "His Sunbeam")  
> 2\. The wedding night (definitely rated E) (Titled "Most Ardently")  
> 3\. The beginnings of the marriage, switching POV (Titled "Commander Dameron Takes a Wife," rated M with some E chapters) 
> 
> P.S. there is angst in all three, to varying levels (the reader will find out what everyone is constantly referencing in regards to Rey's reputation/her life before Alderaan), and Poe's POV is almost entirely pining. 
> 
> Let me know and thank you for reading! I had so much fun writing this this week <3 <3 <3


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